In the Hidden Valley
by Aearwen22
Summary: A single glimpse of mysterious buildings in a remote forest brings a grieving woman on a journey to a place she could never have imagined - and an adventure beyond her dreams. NOW COMPLETE
1. Discovery

Chapter 1 - Discovery

Meg shifted in her saddle and rubbed her eyes. She could hardly believe it, hardly believe that she had actually found it! But whatever it was, here it was - just as Gene had said it would be, and just as they had seen all those months ago…

oOoOo

"Do you see it?" he pointed down through the little plane's windows.

Meg did her best to follow the path his finger indicated; and there certainly was _something_ amongst the leaves of the trees below. "This is a pretty deep ravine, Gene. What do you suppose it is?"

"I'm thinking buildings - maybe a settlement." She could hear the growing excitement in his voice. "Those look like tiles - the roof is tiled and covered with lichen. God only knows how old it is. Hang on, let's make just one more pass."

"If someone's living down there, they're going to wonder what we're doing," she warned, although it was difficult to imagine anyone living full time in the pristine wilderness of the Caledonian Forest. "How the Hell did you find this?"

"Search and rescue last year; a fella and his brother were lost along one of the hiking trails up here for almost a week. I flew this grid for hours, and only just happened to glance down in time to see the roof." Gene banked the plane gently, something for which Meg was deeply grateful. He knew how much she truly distrusted flying. "I noted the exact coordinates; and then after I got back to base, did some research and found the ravine in the satellite geological surveys."

Meg stared down as the little plane made one more pass over the ravine. Yes, that definitely had the look of civilization - perhaps an estate. She could almost make out the shapes of the buildings themselves, now that she knew what to look for. "So now what?"

"I'm thinking horses," he began, nosing the plane back out of the ravine and now banking in the direction of the airstrip where he had kept his plane for almost the entire decade that he'd lived in this part of Scotland. "According to the government, nobody lives in this part of the park - nobody's supposed to be in there without permission at all - and there's no mention of buildings or permits to build up here. Then again, this is a fairly remote area; I'd be willing to bet that nobody's been up here to see in all this time."

"And you intend to check it out for them," Meg chuckled at him. Her brother was such a little boy about things every once in a while. She promised herself that she would be there when he went back, knowing he would - if for no other reason than to drink with him when he discovered that his imagination had once more run away with him.

Gene gifted her with his toothiest grin, the one he used on her when she'd caught him out. "You know me, Meggie. I love mysteries. I just gotta know what's going on down there, and you know you do too. Nobody will even know we'd been out there. We'll have fun - you'll see - next year, when you come over..."

oOoOo

But he hadn't made it back to the ravine - and never would.

The drunk who had sped through the stop sign in the middle of town two months later had taken away his grin, his laugh, his annoying sense of humor and his eccentricities; but worst of all, deprived her of her best friend. With both their parents already dead and Gene's wife fled to her parents' home in London with their only child, Meg was left alone after the funeral, not ready to head back to the States and her dead-end job as a legal secretary. It had taken time, but she'd eventually decided to make the trek into the forest for the both of them. It was one last thing that she could do for him.

And now, here she was, sitting on a horse across what had proven to be a sheer cut into the mountainside by the roaring river below from buildings that could clearly be discerned through the trees and overgrowth in the high, noonday sun. Meg reached into the breast pocket of the flannel shirt she'd worn against both morning chill and direct sunlight to pull out her small digital camera. The view across the ravine was dramatic, and the buildings seemed to blend so well into their setting as to be almost organic themselves. No one would believe her if she didn't take pictures.

That done, she studied the path ahead of her, and the narrow bridge that arched so gracefully over the chasm between the winding path that had taken her over half a day to follow down one cliff face and the buildings across the way. The sides were of stone, and looked intact and stable; but as she clicked at her mount to walk closer, she discovered that the span itself was wooden - and looked worn. She dismounted, tucked the reins of her mount between two boulders at the side of the path, and then walked up to the edge of the wooden bridge. A tentative probing of the wood revealed it to be firm, and no sound of creaking could be heard.

Meg took a deep breath and stepped out onto the bridge, which remained solid beneath her feet. Each step was a three-stage affair, testing the next plank one by one, stepping on it, then waiting to see if it remained sturdy. By the time she'd made the middle of the bridge and nothing had even remotely seemed insecure, she began walking slowly forward. When she reached the other side of the bridge, she turned immediately and walked back to where she'd left her mount.

Once more with slow steps, cautious because of the extra weight, she led the animal across the bridge. Safely on solid ground again, she remounted and moved forward at a pace that was far calmer than she was. The path wound back away from the river and then through a stone gate.

Only then did she begin to get an appreciation for what she'd found, for she quickly found herself in an open area surrounded on three sides by silent stone walls. Ancient oak trees grew along them, nearly obscuring the stonework with leaves starting to turn as autumn slowly crept up into the Highlands. But most impressive, and totally unexpected, was the unimposing façade of the building that made the fourth side; a low portico spanning the entire breadth supported by delicate pillars of stone that looked to have been carved to look like young tree trunks. The courtyard - for that was what it must have been at one time - looked unkempt, with leaves and other plant detritus clumped at the bases of the ancient trees and next to the steps up to the portico.

It was funny, but Meg got the feeling that she was being watched, that perhaps somewhere in this to all intents and purposes completely abandoned and derelict place, someone was watching her every move. She slowly dismounted and once more shifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. "Hello?" she called out, not really expecting much of an answer.

"Oh, Gene, I wish you were here!" she sighed sotto voce, getting the same feeling that she did when speaking a little too loudly in a church. For the first time, she wondered if she were intruding - venturing someplace where she wasn't truly welcome - and it made her hesitant to go exploring. "Hello the house!" she called again, wincing as the sound of her voice acted like a pebble tossed into the middle of a peaceful pond.

Still, after no response or hint of sound or movement behind the darkened windows that looked out onto the courtyard, Meg was able to reclaim a little of her courage. She affixed the reins of her mount to the outstretched hand of a carved maiden who seemed to be waiting for her to do just that, and studied the frozen face as she did.

The maiden seemed to smile sweetly back at her, with long hair tossed back over her shoulder, her outstretched hand an obvious gesture of welcome, and a flowing dress that reached to mid-calf and left a delicate pair of feet and ankles exposed. Meg sniffed in admiration. The artist that had left this little treasure out, open to the elements, had been very talented. Determined to document everything she possibly could about this place, she hauled her camera out of her pocket and took pictures from several angles.

She looped the wriststrap of the camera over her hand and moved up the low steps. These steps had been well-used, for there was an indentation where thousands of feet had stepped in nearly the same places over the years. She turned and spared another quick glance at Sadie, her mare; but Sadie looked perfectly contented and safe in the hands of the stone maiden.

No furniture littered the portico; only a few stray leaves that had been blown into the shelter of the roof huddled against the walls of the building itself. Meg dared to step to one side and try to peek into one of the windows.

The glass, she discovered, was wavy, in the manner of truly ancient glass displayed carefully in museum settings. The function of the glass, back in those days, had been more the simple letting in of light rather than allowing one to gaze unimpeded either in or out. The many small pits and distortions made anything she might have discerned inside indistinguishable. She sighed. If she wanted to get a look at the condition of the interior, she would have to actually enter the building.

The door was massive, and decorated from top to bottom with an intricate bas relief of a forest scene. There were people portrayed as well: tall, slender, garbed in what looked to be medieval robes. The woman wore her hair loose and very long, and the man had hair almost as long and yet caught about the forehead with what looked like a thin band. A crown? Both held their hands out in a welcoming gesture.

Meg put her hand on the carved handle and then let her fingertips admire the smoothness of the wood. This was the polish of extended use, not the artificial smoothness of polyurethane or other chemicals; one could not mistake the one for the other. She gave a small shove, fully expecting the door to be frozen in place; and then nearly tripped and fell on her face when instead the door moved inward easily on utterly silent hinges, giving her a first glimpse into the darkened inside of the building.

If she had thought that it would smell dusty and old inside, as if it hadn't been opened in a very long time, she was mistaken; the foyer just inside the door smelled very much as the courtyard had: fresh, with a hint of pine from the forest. The room just through a simple arch from she had entered was dimly lit by the windows facing the courtyard, and better lit by windows that faced in the opposite direction. From the abundance of indistinguishable green through the warped glass, she guessed that the windows looked out into a west-facing garden that was still lit by the afternoon sun.

What few furnishings she could see were pulled against the walls, as if the owner had anticipated this part of the building being often the site of large gatherings. Meg walked across what seemed to be smooth stone - the echo of her soft footsteps louder than she would have liked - to gaze down at a carved bench near the larger garden window. The wood, once more, was use-polished, although the carvings in the arms and at the feet of the bench less so. Meg's eyes opened wide when she realized that, for an abandoned, derelict building, there was a surprising lack of dust and cobwebs. The windows were clean and clear - except for the occlusions that were the fault of age, not dirt and dust.

Her heart began to pound. This place was _not_ abandoned, as both she and Gene had assumed. Someone was here.

"I'm sorry... I thought…" She began sputtering excuses, her eyes darting to the darkened passages that led deeper into the place, and then spun on her heels to retreat out the way she'd come in. Her movement, however, came to a screeching halt as she saw the very tall figure of a man standing directly in front of the door: a man wearing robes very similar to the ones in the bas relief on the door itself. He was incredibly tall, with very long and silver hair that must have streamed down his back. Slowly, as if with great deliberation, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Meg threw up her hands defensively and backed up a step. "I'm really very sorry. This place looked…" The expression on the man's face had not altered from the stony, cautious look he'd had at their first glance. "Please…" She gestured at the door, which still stood open. "I'll go, go and never come back. I won't say a word about this place or you…" Her words were having no affect on him whatsoever; and a trickle of very real fear slithered up her spine, raising the gooseflesh on her arms and the hair at the back of her neck. What had she gotten herself into?

The man's eyes flicked in the direction of the door. Meg had to swallow a whimper of horror when he slowly turned and with great deliberation closed the door. She was trapped, with no idea what to expect from the tenant of this amazing hidden retreat.

Whatever else, she didn't expect him to walk past her and then halt again, with a hand outstretched in the direction of one of the darkened doorways. "You want me to go that way?" she asked in a frightened voice, pointing the same direction he had.

The silvered head nodded just enough to tell her that was exactly what he wanted. Why would he not speak?

The arm stayed outstretched; and while the expression on the man's face remained stony and impenetrable, it didn't become any more threatening than before. He just nodded again, signaling with his nose where he wished her to go.

Very slowly, very reluctantly, Meg did as she was bid. As she walked past the man, she nearly jumped out of her skin when his large hand moved to cradle her elbow and very gently urge her to a little more speed. Her gaze flitted in terror to his face again, but she quickly looked away in confusion when she found herself drowning in a shining grey gaze that seemed to pierce to the very bottom of her soul.

"_Ibeston,_" the man prounounced in a deep voice that sounded like the pealing of a very large bell.

"Gesundheit," she responded almost automatically, still afraid to look him in the eye again. In order to cover her fear, she walked just a little faster into the gloom, hoping that by doing so, he would release his hold on her. To her dismay, however, his pace sped with hers, and his hold on her elbow remained constant but secure.

With a gentle tug, he turned her to the left, and Meg found herself walking down another corridor that was lined on the right wall with more of the warped and distorted windows that opened onto a sunlit green. Was that the same garden that the other windows showed? Did this building - she wasn't even certain it was a residence anymore - form a square with a garden placed in the center of it? She would have leaned forward to try to see more clearly, but her guardian - her captor - was a tall and substantial obstacle.

A push, this time to the left, steered her away from the illuminating windows and through another darker portal and into a short corridor that opened into a huge space dominated by a massive hearth set into the far end. Along the walls, which were lined with windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, were situated more benches and a few leather-covered chairs that looked as if they might actually be comfortable. Considering what Meg could remember of Scottish winters while visiting Gene before his marriage, she imagined that the huge hearth would get good use in the near future. Even the nights at this time of year could get quite chilly.

Her guardian spared her not a single glance, but led her across the empty space and to a doorway to the left of the hearth. Meg was astonished to find herself in a rather rustic looking dining hall, with a few trestle tables and their accompanying benches looked use-polished and remarkably dust-free. She glance around herself as much as she dared, wondering if the number of seats available at those tables were an indication of the number of people who lived in this strange place.

Through another door, and they were in a kitchen that seemed just as rustic as the dining hall they had left. Another huge hearth sat at the far end, only this one was most definitely lit and in use. Arms of metal dangled at various heights from the blaze, one with a metal pot from which interesting and savory smells were wafting. Stirring the pot was a tall and thin woman, her very long and dark hair braided into a single long queue that dangled well past her waist at the back. Next to her, smiling and evidently chatting, was another man, this time garbed in what seemed to be an earthen-toned home-spun robe. His hair was a non-descript brown and hung in waves to just past his shoulders, and his beard was well-trimmed, although longer than most Meg had seen.

Startled grey eyes looked at her from beneath heavy brown brows that had risen dramatically at her entrance. The smile wavered a little, and then re-established itself quite firmly, with an element of joy to it. "Well, well," he chuckled in a beautiful baritone that held a lilt that was definitely not the customary Scottish brogue, "who do we have here?"

Meg's guardian tugged at her elbow and, once he had reclaimed her attention, pointed at a smaller table with chairs that was situated nearby. "_Havo, ibeston le,"_ he intoned, pulling out one of the chairs.

Guessing that he wanted her to be seated, she again did as directed, flashing the brown man a worried glance.

The moment she was sitting, her guardian launched into a rapid-fire monologue directed at the other man; although the woman at the hearth gave a quick bow and moved from tending her pot to gathering items and bringing them to the table: a loaf of bread whose freshness wafted easily up from the wooden cutting board into Meg's nose and made her stomach growl, a small bowl of berries that looked freshly-picked, another small bowl that was filled with some substance she couldn't identify, a mug, a plate and small knife. A few moments later, the woman had filled a ceramic pitcher with clear water from a barrel and placed that on the table as well.

Meg stared at the bounty spread before her, then at her guardian, who with a graceful gesture made plain that she was to help herself, and then she finally turned a puzzled look to the brown man. "I'm… I'm a trespasser, caught breaking in, and he's _feeding_ me?"

"It has been a long… long time… that we have not seen strangers in our midst," the brown man chuckled again and moved to claim one of the remaining chairs, "but the traditions of this House are venerable and to be honored regardless. No one who finds this place is refused shelter." He sat and watched her for a long moment, during which Meg didn't dare move. "Go ahead," he urged, his lilt almost musical, "this repast is for you."

With a shaking hand, Meg took a few of the berries and put them on her plate and then sipped cautiously at the water in the mug, only to find it sweet and almost cold. "Who… what is… I'm confused."

The tall man settled himself in the remaining chair with an astonishing grace, and the woman seemed to bustle about the kitchen to supply him with the same dining equipment as had been placed before Meg. He stated something in that musical language that held no resemblance at all to anything spoken by the natives in the villages nearby as he deftly sliced himself a thick slab of the bread and then revealed the unknown substance in the second small bowl as honey. Then, waving his doctored bread, he gestured, obviously telling the man in brown to relay his words.

The man in brown asked a quick question, and then nodded at the curt response. "He wishes to know how you have found this place."

Meg carefully set the mug back down on the table and directed her comments to her mysterious guardian. "My… my brother and I saw it… from the air." She waved a pointing finger in a small circle over her head. "We decided to come investigate what he thought were ruins."

No sooner had the words left her lips but the brown man was speaking in that musical tongue. Immediately her silver-haired captor asked something else, and then gestured for his words to be translated. _He looks as if he's someone used to calling the shots_, Meg thought to herself with a shudder.

"And where is your brother? Is he elsewhere on the grounds?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm alone."

Grey eyes from both men studied her face with a sharp intelligence that looked to miss very little. "Your brother did not accompany you after all?" was the next translated question.

"My brother is dead." Meg couldn't help the flat tone in her voice. It still hurt to even think that she would never hear Gene's laugh, or be the butt of one of his jokes…

The expression on the face of the man who had been her captor and guardian changed immediately as her answer was translated. The stony look vanished, and she found herself looking at deep compassion and concern. The question uttered then was one couched in worried tones. "Did he suffer mishap on your journey here? Should we send for help to fetch him?" the brown man translated urgently.

Meg shook her head and closed her eyes. "No. He died long before I came looking for these buildings. I just…" She wiped at the tears that never failed to slip onto her cheeks when she thought about Gene for long. "He was so excited and intrigued when he saw your roof; and he wanted so badly to see just what was going on here. I came because… because I know he wanted to come."

She was startled when the huge hand that had taken control of her elbow earlier reached out and gently covered her hand for a moment as it rested on the table. The deep bell-like voice chimed again. "Then we share in your grief, Lady, and are glad that you are come in his memory," the brown man quickly translated.

The statement was both a comfort and a cause for confusion. "Glad?" Meg turned to the brown man.

He smiled at her. "This place has always been a refuge, ever since its founding. While we do not often entertain guests anymore, we still honor the old ways. And while we are… surprised… that you found your way here, the tradition is that all those who manage to make their way here are never turned away. Please…" he gestured to the table and its contents, "eat a bit, while Norwen makes arrangements for your stay with us."

Meg's eyes widened. "But… I don't want to intrude, or be a…"

"Nonsense! We are honored to be allowed to once more serve our purpose in the world."

"But…" She frowned. "But… What is this place? Who are you people?"

The brown man nodded wryly. "Yes. I suppose introductions are in order, are they not? This," he gestured at the tall, silver-haired aristocrat seated at the table with her, "is Lord Celeborn, also known as The Wise." The tall man nodded at her, probably guessing the substance of the English and yet relinquishing not a bit of his regal bearing. "The lady preparing the evening meal, who is no longer here while she arranges for chambers for you, is Norwen. My name, in the Grey Tongue, is Radagast - although you may call me Wendell, as many of those in the villages do. It comes from one of my other names."

"I'm Meg - Meg Litten," she returned with a shy smile. _His "other" names? How many names does he _have_?_

Wendell looked around the kitchen, his gaze obviously meant to indicate the entire settlement, and then back down at her with warmth and friendliness. "Well then, Meg Litten, welcome to Imladris."


	2. Not What Was Expected

Chapter 2 - Not What Was Expected

The bread was delicious - fresh and still warm from the oven - and with honey drizzled on it, better than anything she'd tasted in a while. Meg tried not to notice the intense gaze of Lord Celeborn, who continued to study her even as he deftly consumed his bread and honey without even a single drip escaping. She did, however, notice his lips quirking as if fighting a smile when she wiped up a stray blob of escaped honey from her plate and stuck her finger in her mouth without thinking.

A low-pitched female voice announced Norwen's return to the kitchen before the woman actually entered. Wendell answered her, as did Lord Celeborn, who then rose gracefully and, with a slight bow, walked away in the direction Norwen had come. Norwen approached the table, picked up Lord Celeborn's plate, and then directed a stream of that unidentifiable yet beautiful language in her direction as she pointed at the plate in front of Meg.

Her meaning was unmistakable, regardless Meg couldn't understand a word she said. "I'm done, thank you," Meg replied, and picked up her plate and handed it over. Norwen accepted it with a quick word that might have been, "Thank you," in her tongue, and then gestured for Meg to finish the water in her mug before turning away.

Meg turned to Wendell. "How do I say 'thank you' in your language?"

"_Hannon le,_" he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"_Hannon le_, Norwen," Meg tried, speaking up with a little bit of courage.

Norwen turned and nodded at her, letting loose with a long stream of words before shaking her finger at her and then moving to resume her nursing of the stewpot over the fire. Meg's eyes widened, and she turned to Wendell as much for reassurance as for explanation.

"She said that she hopes that you continue to reserve room for the stew this evening, and reminds you to let her know if there's anything you need in your chambers before nightfall," Wendell answered the unspoken plea for help with a twinkle in his eye. "She and her husband return to their home after the evening meal or at nightfall, whichever comes last; and you will not have her assistance until morning."

"What about…" Meg thought of the saddlebags and her bedroll that were still attached to Sadie's saddle. She nodded in Norwen's direction, grateful to see the woman nod in return and turn back to her cooking, and then told Wendell, "I need to take care of my horse."

"That has already been taken care of, my dear." The brown man's hand was at her elbow now, exerting pressure to urge her to get to her feet. "Alargon has probably already seen to taking your friend to the stable and brushing it down."

"But, my stuff…"

"Fear not," he chuckled, leading her back toward the dining hall again. "He will bring any belongings into the House, and Norwen will see them properly returned to you. This way, now."

Encouraged, although still not entirely convinced of her welcome, Meg found that walking down corridors was less of a fearful exercise than it was the first time. She was relaxed enough to note that there were often alcoves between the doorways that opened to her left that held either a statue or some other piece of magnificent artwork. Sometime, if she ever felt at ease enough to explore, she promised herself to spend more time studying the grandeur about her that seemed to be so taken for granted by her unassuming guide.

But if there was one impression that she got on this walk, it was of age. Nothing she could see indicated anything remotely modern. The stone of the flooring was worn in the center as if by thousands of feet that had walked there before her. It wasn't quite a rut, but clearly spoke of the amount of time it had been used in exactly that way. The glass in the windows also spoke of great age; she remembered some of the science shows she'd seen on TV mentioning that glass was truly a liquid, one that simply moved thousands of times slower than molasses. The warping and rippling were indications of glass that had been upright on end and slowly moving with gravity for a very long time.

"Wendell?"

"Hmmm?" He slowed slightly and turned to her.

"How long has this place been here? When we saw this place from the air, the roof tiles looked like they'd been there for a long time…"

"Oh, we have been here for Ages," he answered with a casual toss of a hand. "It seems as if we have always been here." She felt another gentle tug on her elbow, and then he was pushing open one of the doors to the right. "Here we are."

It wasn't just a simple bedroom that he ushered her into but rather a small suite of rooms. Inside the door was a sitting room of sorts, with a small but serviceable hearth with supplies to keep the rooms warm stacked close by. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat near it; and across the room were a small table with three simple wooden stools, and a sideboard. Through one door to the right, Meg could see the end of a bedstead, the wood dark with age. "You have a private privy through there," Wendell said and drew her attention to another door at the opposite end of the parlor. "There are bathing rooms downstairs which are fed by hot springs if you wish to bathe; just come find me, and I'll show you how to find them and work with them. They are quite different from what I would imagine you are familiar with."

"This is…" Meg shook her head. Little had she expected, when she had left the public riding trails and headed into the denser, protected lands, that she would have ended up a guest in a huge, rambling, and very old manor-house. "This is more than I deserve for trespassing. I just pushed open the front door and waltzed in here as if…"

"That you found your way down the path without becoming confused and actually arrived at the bridge means that you were meant to find us, Meg Litten," he told her, his tone suddenly quite serious. "Most people find the path, only to get lost only a short while later and end up back where they started. It is how we have managed to stay… inconspicuous for as long as we have."

"But… we saw you…"

"Yes, from above." Wendell shrugged. "The protection that surrounds Imladris was never intended to protect us from above." He sighed. "I will have to take that into consideration from now on."

Meg frowned in confusion. "What?"

He waved a long-fingered hand. "Never mind. I talk to myself sometimes." He backed towards the doorway. "Take some time to freshen up, perhaps rest a while. The evening meal will start soon after five bells."

"Five bells?" Meg shifted nervously towards Wendell, not entirely willing to let him get away yet. "And I don't know how to get from here to the dining hall."

"It is very easy. Out this door, to the left until the end of the hall, then right, and left through the door into the dining hall." He stepped back again, with his hand on the handle to her door. "If you would prefer, however, I will knock on your door and escort you."

Meg breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd really appreciate it. I wouldn't want to get lost and stray into places I don't belong." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I already feel like I'm imposing a great deal."

"Not at all. Now, I would imagine that Norwen probably stocked your chests with clothing that she thought might fit, so I am certain you have plenty of exploring to do before dinner. But our meals are quite informal nowadays, so do not worry about needing to dress. When you hear the five bells, expect me shortly thereafter."

"Thank you," Meg said earnestly. "And I'm sorry to have disrupted your day."

A wide smile spread across his face. "Please. No apologies." He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed in a very odd and old-fashioned manner. "Until later, my lady." With that, he turned and pulled the door closed after himself, leaving Meg alone.

"This is… this has got to be a dream!" She moved through the sitting room and peeked into the bedroom. The bedstead was quite old-fashioned, and the wood was indeed quite dark. But the detail on the carving that was the headboard was enough to take her breath away. As if guarding the sleep of the one to lie in the bed was a grand bas relief tree, with birds sitting in the branches that looked as if they might fly away at any moment. The coverlet on the bed was a dark and rich looking plush material, and the cuff of sheet that was precisely showing beyond the coverlet a soft white.

Meg moved into the room and saw a tall wardrobe against the inside wall. Remembering what Wendell had told her, she opened the larger door and marveled at the array of dresses that hung from pegs. She lifted one down and then held it up against herself. The filmy fabric looked as it just _might_ fit, giving her reason to admire Norwen's judge of size. Still, she hung it back up again.

"I really shouldn't touch anything," she reminded herself even as she dared to sit down on the mattress and bounce experimentally and stroke the soft coverlet. It would definitely be more comfortable than camping on the hard ground with only a blanket!

On a small chest in front of another ancient, warped windowpane, sat a pitcher and ewer set of soft white pottery; and a quick peek told Meg that the pitcher had water in it. Neatly folded next to them were a washcloth and a small towel. In a small bowl was a thick, white liquid which, when she dipped her fingers in it and lifted it to her nose, smelled of lavender. "Soap, maybe," Meg announced to herself.

From somewhere outside, a bell began to chime, ringing four times before stopping. "That's right, he said _five _bells."

A knock sounded on her door. Meg went back into the sitting room to open the door, and found Norwen holding her saddlebags and bedroll. "_Hannon le,_" Meg remembered to say after a quick moment to search her memory for the unfamiliar words.

Norwen bowed and smiled at her, murmuring what was most likely the polite response before turning to walk briskly back down the corridor.

Quietly Meg closed the door and carried her belongings into the bedroom. One of the bulging sides of the saddlebags held a second set of outer clothing: clean jeans and another flannel shirt, packed just in case of weather or other incident that would render what she was currently wearing ineffective. She pulled out the carefully folded and compressed material, shook it out and hung them over the top of one of the delicate dresses in the wardrobe. It was anybody's guess how long these strange people would wish for her to remain.

The other leather pouch held her cell phone, toiletries, additional memory cards for the camera, a small netbook computer, freeze-dried food packets and a space-saving set of collapsible pan, plate, silverware and handle. She eyed the cell phone but tucked it back away again. Who was she going to call? She had told no one where she was going, and she was certain that there was truly no one to care if she didn't call for a while. The collapsible cooking set and food she stowed again as well; from the smell of the stewpot, and the evidence of the snack she'd been given, finding food here was not going to be a problem. She was even going to have an escort to supper.

She dislodged the camera from her jeans pocket, where she'd thrust it when Lord Celeborn had taken charge of her, and looked around her suite of rooms. Certainly the headboard of the bed was worth saving for sharing later. She sat down on the bed and took several pictures, both of the entire design as well as close-ups of individual points of detail that were charming.

That done, she stored away the camera into the saddlebag and draped it carefully over the bar at the foot of the bed. The bedroll she gazed at for a while before just setting it on the bed at the very base of the mattress near the foot. If she got chilly in the night, it would be at least another something warm to pull over her.

That only left the private privy to investigate. With a sigh, she pulled herself back to her feet and opened the final door. Inside was nothing she was familiar with. The privy itself was a stone bench with a convenient hole, although not a whiff of foul odor rose from its darkness. Meg stood over it and thought she could hear the sound of water running somewhere very far away. _No sewer system or septic system._ The implications were enormous, but she refused to let herself dwell on them.

On the wall that held the door itself was a mirror and small chest of drawers, on the top of which was yet another pitcher and ewer filled with water. This time, the obligatory folded washcloth and towel were hung from a small nearby metal bar. High on the wall behind the privy was a small window that provided the light. Meg shuddered as she realized that she would hopefully have some sort of candle given her later, should she need to navigate in here in the dark.

Satisfied with her search for now, she moved back into the sitting room. Already the light in the one window was beginning to wane, so Meg looked about her for candles, finding a small supply of them on their sides on the mantle over the hearth. She frowned, realizing that she had found no candlesticks in which to put them nor matches with which to light them. The latter she had in her backpack, however; so all she truly needed were the candlesticks.

"What kind of rabbit hole have I found?" she asked herself, a hand pressed to the top of her head. "What the Hell am I doing here?" The immensity of her situation, and the mystery of just who these people were and why they seemed to be quite content living in what looked like medieval conditions staggered her, and she groped for and then sat in one of the chairs situated in front of the hearth.

From where she sat, the window didn't look as if it opened; and Meg shuddered at the idea that she was trapped in this room. The house - or estate, whatever it was - was huge and rambling, probably quite easy to get very lost in. If what she suspected were true, only the enigmatic Wendell spoke English; leaving her with very few options in conversation.

With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the smooth leather, finding the cushions both beneath her bottom and at her back quite sufficient. The stress was catching up to her. "Gene, why did I have to take a page from your book? I'm not an explorer. _You _should be the one stuck in this… this…" She closed her eyes and sighed.

But no matter how tired she was now, her mind wouldn't let her rest. _How long until five bells?_ Bored, frightened, tired and all too willing to entertain all kinds of horrific possibilities, Meg gazed about her, as if wishing something in the room would give her the answers she needed before she went crazy.

oOoOo

She roused at the touch of a gentle hand on her forearm, shaking her. "Lady? Awaken please…"

Meg groaned and opened her eyes to see Wendell bending over her. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Indeed so," he responded, straightening as she began to move. "I take it you did not hear the bells?"

She shook her head. "I didn't think I'd be able to fall asleep. My mind was going a million miles a minute, the last time I knew anything..."

Wendell lent her his hand to help her out of the chair, gazing at her closely as she rose and then withdrew her hand. "You are frightened."

Meg avoided meeting his gaze. "I know I had no business even trying the front door, much less stepping inside. I didn't expect to be invited in afterwards - much less housed and fed. So yes, I'm feeling more than a little insecure."

"We are not monsters, Meg Litten," Wendell stated very gently. "We have no plans to rob you or hold you captive. If you truly wished, you could gather your belongings and walk out the door this moment, saddle your mount and ride away." His face, when she finally glanced up at him, was kind. "We would hope that you would dine with us before you left, however - or that you would agree to stay the night in a comfortable bed in a warm house rather than on the hard ground on a chilly night - but we would not force you to anything against your will."

At that, Meg stared at him. "You mean it?" she asked very softly. "I could leave if I really wanted to?"

He ducked his head in a firm nod. "Yes. However, I know that Lord Celeborn would be seriously disappointed; I believe he had hopes of asking you some more questions this evening. We…" He hesitated, as if not knowing exactly how to say something. "We do not have much contact with the outside world, except on those rare occasions that I must go to the village for particular supplies that we cannot produce for ourselves here. And even then, I dare not stay away from Imladris for long; so my ability to gather information is quite limited." He looked at her again, his gaze penetrating. "But that is neither here nor there. The question before you is: shall I have Alargon saddle your horse for you again?"

Meg gazed back, trying to see if she could find the slightest hint of anything menacing in Wendell's eyes, but all she could see was concern and patience. "No," she finally said with a sigh. "I can at least stay the night, and then be on my way in the morning so that you and your people don't have to worry about a stranger for long, nor worry about me stumbling around and getting injured in the dark."

His smile was immediate and brilliant. "We honestly are not displeased with your visit," he told her as he settled her hand on his arm and began leading her from her suite. "No matter the way in which you came upon us, you are not unwelcome here. Hopefully you will soon realize this for yourself, and not need my reassurance."

The odd thing was that they were not walking in the dark. At regular intervals, a crystal-looking container was displayed or hung at the side of the corridor that gave off a soft, blue glow that was easy on the eyes and illuminated the surrounding area. Meg wondered about them, for she had seen not a single sign of electrical outlet in her suite at all, now that she thought about it. So much here was strange, or very, very old-fashioned; it was hard to fully comprehend all that she was seeing.

"And now you are confused," Wendell commented quietly.

Meg glanced at him in guilty surprise, and then looked away again quickly in embarrassment. "Am I as easy to read as all that?" she asked with a blush slowly spreading.

"I would imagine that what you have seen this day here matches none of the expectations you might have had of this place from your aerial survey."

Slowly she nodded. "Then again, I didn't know what to expect - certainly not that people were actually living here."

"So you have said before. Did you think Imladris to be nothing but ruins?"

"We weren't certain. Gene said that this part of the park was closed to regular visitors, and that one needed the permission of the government to be allowed in. He also said that there was no record of buildings in this ravine, nor any sign that anyone had filed for permission to build."

"And you had permission yourself to enter these lands from the government?"

Again she felt the warmth wash through her cheeks. "Not exactly," she replied finally.

"Hmmmm."

Meg cringed at the understanding tone in which that hum was made, but then blinked as she moved through the large room toward a brightly lit dining hall with a quiet murmur of voices. She would have preferred to approach the room slowly and cautiously, as she just knew she was going to feel like the odd-man-out, but Wendell's hold on her hand sitting on his arm was a firm one.

More of the blue-glowing crystals hung from fixtures fastened to the walls, fixtures that she hadn't noticed the first time she'd been there. Augmented with candles on the tables, the sources of light gave the room an interesting glow. The number of people present and already seated at the tables Meg estimated at between twenty and thirty; all of them evidently young and slender and wearing their hair very long. All of the women, except her, were garbed in gowns made of the same soft fabric as those she'd found in her wardrobe; so she did indeed feel quite out of place in her flannel shirt and faded blue jeans. Most of the men wore trousers, a blouse-like garment made of what looked like similar material to the gowns that was covered by a sleeveless over-shirt, and boots made of soft-looking leather.

Many eyes were turned to watch her entrance, but none of those seemed to hold any animosity. A deep voice sounded over the hush, and Wendell tugged on her hand to lead Meg to the head table, where Lord Celeborn stood with his right hand extended over the empty seat next to him. The tall man stepped back to assist her in scooting her chair forward before taking his place to her left. She was comforted, however, when Wendell remained close to sit at her right. At least she would have an interpreter.

On the other side of Celeborn, a serious man with very light gold hair watched her warily and yet with open curiosity. Beyond him sat several others, equally wary and curious. Celeborn spoke a brief phrase obviously aimed at the collected population at large, something pointedly at Wendell, and then gave the simple wave that told Meg that his final words had been meant for her.

"Lord Celeborn asks that I introduce the others at the table," Wendell said, making her turn her head quickly. "Next to him sits Haldir, his master of the guard, who watched you as you approached our fences." At the mention of his name, the silver-golden haired man pressed his right hand over his chest and bowed from the neck. "And next to him is his brother, Rúmil."

_Strange names_, she thought, _nothing like any of the traditional Scottish names I've heard._ "Nice to meet you both," she said hesitantly, and knew that Wendell's lilting words were most likely hers in return.

Her eyes were drawn to movement in front of her, and she looked up to see Norwen setting the heavy pot that had been hanging over the fire on the table, with another, shorter woman carrying a stack of bowls and assorted utensils. Yet another brought a plank with an untouched loaf of the fresh bread. Meg's mouth began to water at the thought of the savory stew and tasty bread together. When her serving was handed to her, along with a wooden spoon of surprising delicacy, she gazed into Norwen's face and said slowly and carefully, "_Hannon le, Norwen_."

Norwen smiled back and responded with the same short phrase she'd said before, but Meg could feel that Lord Celeborn had stiffened in surprise. He bent to her and said a long statement, and then the both of them turned to Wendell. "He says that he is surprised and pleased that already you begin to learn Sindarin. Knowing more of our language would make your stay infinitely more beneficial to you."

"Does nobody else here speak English?" She just _had_ to ask.

Wendell shook his head. "The others have chosen not to leave Imladris. As this is the last refuge left for their kind, and the world of Men holds no allure, they are just as happy letting me take the occasional trip."

Meg frowned. "What do you mean, 'the world of Men'? We're all human beings here."

She frowned as Wendell aimed a long stream of words over her head at Lord Celeborn. Haldir frowned and commented as well, only to fall silent as Celeborn spoke in slow and deliberate tones. Both men nodded seriously, and Wendell turned back to her. "Our people here have stayed separate from the outside world for a very long time. They call that world the "world of Men" sometimes. I forget that you would not have heard that before."

Celeborn spoke then, looking directly at Meg. She waited for Wendell's translation: "My friend tells me that you speak differently than those who live beyond these hills. Where do you call home?"

_He's changing the subject!_ Still, it would only be polite to answer. "I'm an American."

Oddly, Wendell seemed not to understand the term. "You are… from a different land then?"

She nodded. "Across the ocean to the west."

The moment Wendell translated her words, she could see that several of the others sitting at other tables had clearly turned to give their attention to what was going on at hers.

From beyond Haldir, Rúmil asked a question in a tone that was almost harsh in its eagerness. Meg heard the word "American" uttered in a musical lilt and immediately turned to hear the translation. Much to her disappointment, Wendell answered him - at length. When he was done, she swallowed her bite of stew and tugged on his sleeve. "What was that about?"

"Nothing important," Wendell told her with a glare in Rúmil's direction. When Meg glared at _him_, he sighed. "Some of our people are superstitious about what exists across the sea to the west. I merely explained that your land is not the one they were thinking of."

Again Celeborn spoke to Meg, with Wendell translating his words. "Do you have family left behind in your land?"

"No," she answered, more than aware that he was again steering the discussion away from what were apparently touchy subjects. "My parents are dead, and my brother's wife is here in Britain - in London."

"And you have no other kin?"

It seemed amazing, even to Meg, to consider that. "No," she answered eventually. "Both of my parents were only children, and their parents as well."

"Do you have a husband who awaits your return, then?"

Now Meg both blushed and let herself worry a little. _What are all the questions about my family about? Is he wondering if there's anybody who will miss me if they _don't_ let me go as Wendell said they would?_ "No," she replied firmly. "No husband, no fiancé, and no boyfriend."

Haldir tossed back whatever was in his mug and rose from the table, obviously finished. He spoke a quick, sharp sentence that brought several nods from the other tables before he turned on his heel. Meg turned to Wendell, only to see him shaking his head. "What?" she asked worriedly.

Celeborn spoke, his tone a kindly one, and laid a hand very gently on Meg's shoulder. Meg turned her head and found herself sinking into grey eyes that seemed bottomless in their compassion and wisdom. "You will have to forgive him; Haldir's concern ever rests with the security of our fences, and the ease of your discovery and entry does not sit well with him," Wendell supplied from behind her. "And _Hir_ Celeborn reminded all here that even those with few ties to the outer world have the right to find their way to us, regardless the amount of time that may have passed outside our ken. For myself, I worry that you have so few upon whom to lean. Obviously you still grieve for your brother. Have you no one, that you undertake this journey of remembrance alone?"

Even Meg herself wondered at that. Once Sally had taken Linnet to London, and the cloud of friends that had claimed Gene had dissipated, Meg had felt quite abandoned. She had a few friends - colleagues among the secretarial staff at the office where she worked - but none that were close. Now that Gene was gone… No! She didn't dare let her mind follow that path; if she thought about that too much…

"I do all right," she defended herself after a deep breath. "I'll be okay eventually."

Wendell frowned, as if her answer displeased him somehow. "Your brother - how long ago did he die?"

It was like a knife to the heart. "Three weeks ago," she said, her tone flattening as she struggled against the emotion. "A drunk driver."

She heard Wendell's musical words that flowed over her without the need for her to try to understand, but her attention had finally been pulled inward. She could no longer shut away the memories of the frantic call she'd gotten from Sally, or the police officer - did they call them "bobbies" in Scotland too? - relating the particulars of the accident, or the very kind funeral director speaking to her because Sally was in no shape to make any decisions, or staring at the closed casket that contained the remains of her only family, or the overwhelming smell of roses, or the cold rain as she had stood next to the gaping grave, or the horrific thuds of dirt clods striking the top of Gene's casket, or the gritty feel of her fingers after she too had dropped her clod into the hole, or the way her face ached afterwards at the frozen half-smile she'd pasted on to greet Gene's many friends at the reception afterwards, or the desperation in Sally's face as she got in the car to drive away from the home she'd shared with Gene for all of six whole years, or how very silent the house was with everyone gone but her, or…

The press of thin, cold metal against her lower lip finally drew her out of her spiraling fall; and she noted that she was no longer in the dining hall, but back in what looked to be her own suite of rooms again. Wendell was kneeling in front of her, holding both of her hands with a very worried look on his face, while Lord Celeborn himself bent down to her, administering whatever it was in the metal goblet. To the side stood Norwen, her face as worried as Wendell's.

"Meg Litten." Lord Celeborn's deep, clear voice easily called her attention to him with a musical interpretation of her name. "_Sogo, ibeston le._" He tapped the metal goblet against her lower lip again.

"Take a sip, my dear," Wendell translated quickly. "It will help you."

"What is it?" She drew back and tried to peer into the depths of the goblet.

"_Miruvor_," Lord Celeborn answered, and then glanced at the man in brown when Meg frowned at him.

"A cordial only. It will help restore you. Just a sip now," Wendell urged.

Meg closed her eyes and made the decision to trust - just this once. She opened her lips just enough to let a tiny bit of the cool liquid slip in; and then opened her eyes in surprise at the taste of liquid sunshine that didn't burn, but warmed her from the very innermost corner of her stomach outward. Looking up, she saw Lord Celeborn's lips quirk in a hint of a smile at her reaction; and she willingly and obediently took more of the "cordial" from him, this time holding it within her mouth and savoring the delicate taste before swallowing.

"Better?" Wendell loosed one of her hands so he could pat the other.

She nodded. Now she could feel the dampness on her cheek, the stuffiness in her nose and the tightness in her forehead that told her she had most likely lost it again. She let her glance slip guiltily from Lord Celeborn to Wendell, and then even to Norwen. "I'm sorry…"

"On the contrary…" Wendell started, only to have Lord Celeborn interrupt with a long flow of words. When he was finished, he straightened, nodded to Wendell, Norwen, and carried the goblet with him as he left the suite. Meg hoped that her wide eyes would ask the question without need to say anything; and when Wendell turned back to her, she saw she was correct. "_Hir_ Celeborn is correct. You need your rest, and we need to give you a little time to collect yourself. We are sorry we touched your grief without understanding its depths. Norwen will assist you in preparing for sleep."

"I don't…" Meg started, only to stop at the determined shake of the head.

"We will assist you this evening; perhaps tomorrow evening, you will not need the help."

_Tomorrow? Will I even _be_ here tomorrow evening?_

Still, Lord Celeborn's words rang true: she _was_ exhausted. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a little help after all.


	3. The Morning After

Chapter 3 - The Morning After

Meg stirred, and then woke up rather suddenly at the sound of a single, ethereal voice singing somewhere in a language that was totally unfamiliar. It took her several moments to remember exactly where she was and how she had gotten there; and then she sank back into the embrace of a soft, fresh-smelling pillow and the warmth of lightweight blankets. The light streamed in through her bedroom window, letting her know that she had slept in for the first time since her brother's death.

She sat up quickly to rise, and then stared down at the thin and sleeveless sleeping dress she was wearing. Vaguely she remembered… she remembered… Norwen - _that_ was her name! - helping her out of her flannel and denim and sports bra and then into this… shift. It was a very old-fashioned garment; but now that she was awake enough to notice, she couldn't help but admire the intricate embroidery on the bodice and the ribbons that lay over her shoulders. Everything she'd seen in this strange place spoke of skillful handcrafting - even this, the most basic and ordinary of things to wear.

Still, it was morning, and she was actually hungry. She turned and made up the bed until even her grandmother would have been satisfied at her work, then very carefully pulled the shift over her head. She walked to the wardrobe when she couldn't find where Norwen had stowed her clothes from the previous day, only to find the shirt and jeans she herself had hung on pegs - without a sign of her sports bra in sight.

She wasn't happy about it, but she donned her clean flannel shirt and blue jeans, then went back to the bed to rummage at the bottom of one side of the saddlebag for the spare set of socks she'd packed. Once she had pulled her boots back on, she felt a little better, far more prepared to face a day in the midst of mystery and people with whom she couldn't converse.

Her aura of confidence carried her through the sitting room and out into the corridor, where she remembered that the dining hall was somewhere off to the left. The sound of singing had not ceased, but rather another voice had joined the first in a play that allowed first one and then the other to carry the melody or work a descant either higher or lower. The effect of the music was compelling: peacefulness and a lack of urgency surrounded her like one of the light, warm blankets on her bed.

A young woman with her arms full of folded material approached from the other end of the corridor, and she smiled and gave a shallow bow of the head to Meg as she passed by. Meg found herself smiling back at the thought that maybe Wendell hadn't been exaggerating her welcome after all. Then she turned back to her path, hoping that she could remember the way well enough not to get lost.

What she hadn't seen before - but couldn't help but notice now - was the doorway set into the wall of windows near the end of the corridor. A single glance through the door, and Meg was drawn to the garden beyond. Stately, ancient-looking trees just beginning to show the turn of the season stood like silent sentinels over lush grass and borders of late summer blooms. The garden, as she had once considered, was surrounded on all four sides with glassed walls, obviously a masterpiece to be enjoyed as often as possible. Here and there were scattered stone benches for loitering, as well as graceful statuary. Off to her left and tucked into the corner, nestled among ferns and flowering plants and sheltered by one of the stately trees, a fountain sang a wet and merry tune.

Meg drew in a breath of fresh and fragrant air. Yes, this place was a mystery, but it was one of the most restful and peaceful places she'd ever known. To think that Wendell could enjoy the peace of this garden whenever he chose… She shook herself, wrapped her arms about herself protectively and turned to re-enter the corridor again. As much as she was enjoying discovering these bits of beauty, she knew she couldn't stay. Wendell and even Lord Celeborn were being extremely kind in just offering her an evening's hospitality and a restful night.

She couldn't inconvenience them much longer.

At the end of the corridor she halted and wracked her brain to try to remember if she had gone left or right. Both of the corridors were short, which didn't help much. Meg closed her eyes and decided to go with her gut and turned left.

But she immediately quailed and almost turned and bolted back to her suite when she saw, stalking confidently and quickly towards her, the silver-blond that Wendell had said was Haldir. Only this Haldir was pure warrior, in suede garb, a sword hanging from his belt in a tooled scabbard, a quiver of white-fletched arrows visible over one shoulder and a beautiful but deadly-looking bow in his hand. His eyebrows soared at the sight of her, and then lowered into a frown.

Thoroughly intimidated, no doubt what he had intended, Meg shrank back against the stone wall so as to give him as much room to pass by her as possible; but he stopped and spoke sharply to her. Wide-eyed and fearful, she could only stare at him. Again he spoke, this time in a clear demand of something. Meg wished with all her heart that she could know what he wanted of her, for she would give it to him if only so that he would go away and leave her alone.

"Haldir!" a feminine voice sounded from behind her, followed by a long stream of words that sounded angry. Meg flinched in surprise, and then sighed in relief as Norwen pushed past her and put herself right into Haldir's face.

Obviously the warrior hadn't been expecting any counteroffensive, for his dour expression shattered, first into incredulity and then chagrin. When next he looked into Meg's eyes, he was far less intimidating. He muttered something that must have been an apology, placing his free hand over his chest and bowing slightly - and then stalked past her at last on his way to wherever he'd been going before their encounter.

Relieved, Meg let herself lean back against the cool stone wall and gazed appreciatively at Norwen. "_Hannon le,_" she said, remembering the one little bit of politeness she'd learned.

Norwen was immediately at her side, repeating the brief phrase that Meg was quickly coming to understand as the "you're welcome" of the language; only she continued on, her arm about Meg's shoulders and guiding her back in the direction she'd come in order to take her down the other corridor. As they walked, Norwen kept up her chatter, only Meg heard Haldir's name mentioned, and then Norwen's voice got angry again. She clucked her tongue and gave Meg's shoulders a comforting squeeze, and Meg decided she could learn to like the prickly woman.

Ah - at last she was walking through the huge, empty room toward the doorway through which Meg _knew_ sat the dining hall and kitchen. "_Hiril_ Meg," Norwen said at last, pulling them both to a stop, and then asked her a question. Meg stared at her without understanding, and Norwen gave her a sheepish grin before miming bringing food to her lips. Meg grinned back and nodded.

Norwen beckoned, and Meg followed her through the empty dining hall and into the kitchen. A pointed finger indicated that Norwen wanted Meg to sit down at the little table again while she bustled about the place, bringing a partial loaf of bread, the little bowl of honey, an apple and a mug of fresh, cool water to her. Meg gestured an invitation for Norwen to join her, but Norwen shook her head with a bell-like laugh and pointed to the hearth, where several pots hung at various heights over the flames.

At ease as she hadn't been since pushing the front door open, Meg allowed herself to thoroughly enjoy the repast Norwen had set in front of her. There was a sense of hominess here in the heart of the house that resonated with her memories of her grandmother. Many of the smells that assailed her here were familiar ones: bread baking, something heavy with savory herbs cooking. A young man came through the door at the far end of the kitchen bearing wood for the fire, which he deposited in a box to the side of the fire. Norwen smiled at him as she stirred the contents of one of the cooking pots, and they spoke briefly.

His eyes widened when he finally noticed the visitor in the kitchen, and he asked Norwen something. Norwen's brows rose, but she nodded, left off her cooking and motioned for him to follow her over to the table. "_Hiril_ Meg," she began with some uncertainty. When Meg nodded, she pointed to the young man. "Alargon. _Hervenn nîn_."

Alargon. That was the name of the one who had taken charge of her horse the day before. Meg smiled widely, wishing she knew what the other two words Norwen said meant, but rose with a smile with her hand outstretched. "Alargon. Nice to meet you! _Hannon le_ for taking care of Sadie for me."

Alargon stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment, but carefully put his in Meg's grasp after looking back at Meg's smile. Again Meg heard the phrase that nearly always answered her _hannon le_'s, and then Alargon quickly withdrew his hand from hers. He turned and deposited a quick peck on Norwen's cheek, speaking softly to her before heading out the door again. Norwen's soft smile told Meg that it was possible those words she was wondering about meant something like "my husband" or "my love."

Now that she was up, however, she carried her plate and empty mug over to where there were several stacked, awaiting washing. The apple core she tossed into a bucket of similar leavings. On a table below a window sat a low tub filled with water and other eating dishes, next to a bucket of clear water. "Norwen?" Meg asked, happy finally to have some way to show her appreciation. She waited until she had the woman's attention and then mimed washing a plate and then pointed to herself. "Can I at least help you wash dishes?"

Norwen's reaction was immediate: she shook her head vehemently and began chattering at her. She grabbed Meg's hand and pulled her away from the table with its unfinished task, making it very clear that she didn't want Meg to do anything. Instead, she kept hold of Meg's hand and pulled her back into the dining hall and then through a different doorway, into yet another garden. The two women crossed the enclosure and entered yet another open door into a corridor and into another room.

And such a room it was! Floor to ceiling bookcases lined the walls, filled with books and some items that looked like rolled up scrolls. At a table with several scrolls in front of him, a quill in hand, sat Wendell. A word from Norwen, spoken in a respectful hush, brought up sparkling brown eyes.

"Ah - there you are!" He rose and spoke quickly to Norwen, who spoke to him at some length before she bowed and then bowed to Meg. "I take it you rested well, and have now eaten?"

Meg watched Norwen's retreat and then turned back to him. "I slept very well, thank you; and Norwen saw to it I had a good breakfast. I offered to help her with dishes, but I don't think she wanted my help."

"You surprised her," Wendell stated with a chuckle, and he gestured for her to take a seat in one of the other chairs at the table. "She wasn't expecting an offer of assistance. As a guest here, you are under no obligation to perform menial tasks…"

"I just wanted to help…" She let her eyes travel the room. "What is this place - a library of sorts?"

"Indeed. At one time, it was one of the larger libraries in this part of the world. But many of the volumes were packed and taken away when the original Master of Imladris decided to sail. What you see here is what was left behind - and what has been written since then."

"The name of this place is Im… Im…"

"Imladris. Let me see, what was it in Westron?" He closed his eyes for a moment and then pronounced something in a tongue obviously much coarser than the one Meg had become accustomed to hearing. "Imladris is in a deep slash in the mountainside, and yet is most peaceful - which is much of the meaning behind the word. I believe a good translation to your English would be 'Rivendell' - and that refers to the entire settlement."

Her eyes widened. "Then there's more to Imladris than just this one large and confusing building then?"

Wendell's chuckle grew. "Oh my, yes. We have several outbuildings: a stable; a forge; even an armory left over from days long gone to all except, perhaps, Haldir and his brothers; pasturelands; orchards; fields." His eyes smiled at her and gave her a warm feeling of welcome. "I shall have to give you the guided tour - perhaps after our midday meal?"

That brought matters back to her. "Wendell, I know I'm imposing on your time and Lord Celeborn's patience. I should…"

"You are doing nothing of the sort!" His dark brows furrowed into a frown. "You were led to us for a reason; no one ever finds Imladris without just cause. Do not doubt your welcome, please."

"But…" Her mind spun, unable to accept the unlikely offer.

"Do you not _wish_ to stay?"

Meg's eyes widened. Stay? Actually have the time to actually enjoy a little of the beauty that seemed to surround her on all sides; time to examine art and craftsmanship taken to heights of excellence rarely seen? "What would I do here?" she asked instead. "I should at least be allowed to earn my keep…"

Wendell tipped his head at her. "What do you do in your world, Meg Litten? With what do you fill your days?"

"I'm a secretary… to the head of the law firm I work for. And…" She had to think; what _did_ she do on a regular day? "I like to read…"

"All things you could do here, if you wished. Of course, we would have to teach you to read and write Sindarin; but if your hand is better than mine, I am certain Lord Celeborn would be most pleased to have your assistance. Not to mention that you will be able to finally answer questions about the outside world that I cannot."

_What is he talking about? _ She had been thinking "stay" meant for a few days, and obviously he had meant something much more. She stared at him with open disbelief. "What's going on?"

He blinked his confusion. "Whatever do you mean?"

"A job offer?" She allowed her incredulity to embitter her voice a bit. "I break into your house; I, a stranger you have never seen, have no reason to trust is not here to steal you blind. At least Haldir's suspicions I can understand - but… this?" She shook her head. "Either you people are incredibly naïve, or something is going on here that you're not telling me; either way, I know things aren't supposed to happen like this."

Wendell's face grew sad. "And so I was not incorrect: the world outside has grown so cold and unfriendly that even such offers as ours would be viewed with skepticism. Trust has become such a rare commodity that those who live in such a world cannot be convinced of its existence?" He sat back in his chair and studied her for a long moment. "Truly, we have been isolated for longer than I'd thought."

Meg sighed. "You're speaking in riddles, and I don't understand."

"I know, and I am sorry for that." He sighed and rose. "I know that Norwen arranged to have your garments laundered for you; I will make certain that they are returned to you the moment they are dry. Alargon will be told to make ready your mount when you are prepared to leave us."

"Wait!" Meg threw a defensive hand up. "First you give me a job offer - talk about my learning your language and helping Lord Celeborn as if I were to consider moving in permanently - and _now_ you're giving me the bum's rush?"

Wendell looked confused. "Is that not what you desired - to leave us as soon as possible because you cannot believe our offer of hospitality and occupation?"

"I don't understand most of what's going on!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. She finally gazed long at him, studying his face. "I have a feeling we're talking past each other, because neither of us really understands the other."

"You may be right," he relented, dropping back into his seat. "If the world beyond our fences has changed so much, such would be a natural occurrence." He dropped his chin into his hand to gaze at her. "Tell me then, Meg Litten; if you had your choice, would you be interested in spending some time here, perhaps learning a few words of our language and getting a chance to explore this place you and your brother found?"

"Yes," she answered softly. It was true: the idea that she could have the opportunity to come to know this odd refuge from time and everything she'd ever known was hard to resist. "I have two weeks left before I was supposed to be back at work. If I could, I'd like to spend part of that time here."

Wendell's face became pained. "Only two weeks? Such a little time…"

Meg's face fell as well. "Less, actually. I only rented Sadie for…"

"Sadie?"

"My mare. I only rented her for three days. I have to have her back to her owner tomorrow afternoon, at the latest."

Wendell brushed that aside with a wave of his hand. "I could deliver her back to the village myself, for that matter. You need not waste a day over and back for that."

"I should be the one to…"

He gave her a sharp look. "If you wish, then, we could go together; and you could ride back with me for the rest of your stay."

Meg still shook her head. "Even if I did, I could still only stay maybe ten days in all. I still have to travel back to my hotel in Edinburgh, and from there to London, and from there to Los Angeles, where I live, and then rest up so I could be at work bright and early."

"A lot could happen in ten little days, Meg. I am willing to help you take your mare back, and then to bring you back to the village again in time to make the connections that you need to take you home." His expression grew wistful. "You came here for a reason. Perhaps, in those ten days, you can find it."

She gazed at him, warmed by the earnest light in his sparkling brown eyes, and then chuckled. "You make a good salesman, you know?"

"A salesman - a merchant of sorts, you mean?" His smile brightened. "Yes, I suppose you could see my argument in that light." He sobered. "Does this mean that you are agreeable to my suggestions?"

He was a strange man, but a kind one that Meg could easily begin to call a friend. Ten days in such agreeable company wouldn't be a bad way to end a trip that had begun with such horrendous heartbreak. "Yes," she chuckled at last. "I will go with you to turn Sadie in to her owners and stay the other nine days here."

Wendell's entire being seemed to glow with happiness, and Meg could see that he was visibly holding himself to a more restrained grin. "Oh, most excellent! Lord Celeborn will be most pleased as well. He was quite concerned when you became so despondent at the meal last night. He told me to tell you that he promises no further questions about subjects that would bring you sadness - and I give you my word as well. Your stay here will be one of gladness to return you to balance."

His hand reached out and pressed hers, and Meg found herself turning her hand beneath his so that she could hold him back. The last thing she had thought to find on this ride into the ancient Scottish woods was a new friend. Now she was glad she had come - and glad she had agreed to stay.


	4. Learning More

Chapter 4 - Learning More

The morning passed far more quickly than Meg could have imagined, so occupied did Wendell keep her. She learned a few more short words and phrases in Sindarin so she could at least continue to be polite: _mae govannen_ was a general greeting, _goheno nîn_ was "excuse me" or "forgive me", _hannon le_ was "thank you", _glassen_ was "my pleasure" instead of "you're welcome" - and most importantly, the sentence _goheno nîn, ú-bedin thindarim_ was "forgive me, I don't speak Sindarin." The latter took the longest for her to master, and had both of them laughing heartily at her attempts and resulted in their being shooed from the library proper into the nearby garden for their troubles.

Calmer and disciplined once more to quiet, they returned to the library, where she was allowed to look at the books stored there. She couldn't help but note that all of them looked to not only be hand-bound, but hand-written as well. The letters of the musical language were as alien and beautiful as the spoken word, and Meg regretted that she wouldn't have the time it would take to master being able to read it. The artwork that illustrated the writings was magnificent, and if hand-done, meant that the scribe had been a talented artist as well. Something told her that the library held stories that could keep her spellbound for years. The look on Wendell's face as she reluctantly returned the book after slowly paging through and gazing at one pen and ink drawing after another was one of understanding and sympathy.

Wendell also handed her a quill and bade her write in English - starting with the alphabet and then a few sentences as he dictated them to her. Mastering the use of a quill took another healthy bit of time - and no few muffled laughs - and while the dictation ended up fairly legible, Meg knew that she would be able to give him a far better writing sample with a little more practice. She had to admit that Wendell's attempts at writing English would probably be much more legible than any attempts of hers to write Sindarin.

After a light lunch of fruit and nuts with watered wine, Wendell claimed Meg's hand to his arm for a fully guided tour of the settlement. She found several times along the way that she wished that she had brought her camera, for the work taking place in the forges was quite dramatic and the serenity of the stables and the pastureland beyond would be indescribable without photo evidence to illustrate. There were rabbit hutches and chicken coops to provide both meat and eggs, a small herd of cattle for meat and dairy that mixed freely in the pastureland with the horses, and another small herd of sheep that supplied meat and wool.

In the later afternoon, he led her up a small but obviously well-used trail that climbed the rocky cliff behind the settlement to a vista point that looked out over the entire place. From there, Wendell pointed out the orchards that lined the river both above and below the settlement itself, and told her how berry vines were planted at the edges of the orchard. There was a singular flat field where he explained they grew what grain they could; and the view, the distant roar of the river over the falls that had resulted in the creation of the ravine, the fresh air - all of it - was more beautiful and special than anything she had ever experienced. "You are so lucky to live here," she finally commented as she settled on a boulder that looked as if it had been used as a seat for a very long time.

"Lucky." Wendell's tone was strange as he walked toward the edge of the small flat area. "I suppose you could think so. Imladris has treated me well, and it has been my honor to serve it for as long as I have. Before I came here, I was fairly itinerant; I went where I was most needed and did what I could. My expertise, at the time, was with the animals and the land itself.

"But eventually, the world was able to go on without my help; Men were not interested in what I had to give, for it did not line their purses with gold. Most of the E… well, most of those who knew me had sailed - except for Thranduil, who sailed eventually too, and Celeborn. Celeborn was determined to keep Imladris for those who still were not called West, and every so often would come someone from the outside world with great need for what Imladris offered; and we struck a bargain that I would assist in helping hide Imladris from the world of Men for the most part, in return for room and board. In time, he made use of my former familiarity with the outside world, sending me to the local villages when there were specific things that we could not provide for ourselves that we needed - herbs we could not grow in this clime, and the like."

He turned and walked back to her and sat down next to her on the boulder. "After all the time I spent trying to heal and nurture the land, I admit it was a relief to settle down and know that I had done the best I could. Now my sole duty was to protect those who still remained, in spite of all." He picked up Meg's hand and patted it. "Yes, I am lucky. But it has also been lonely, for in remaining here, I too have shunned the company of my own people. Celeborn and his people have made me welcome, but they never forget that I am not one of them."

Meg frowned. "You mean, you come from somewhere else, other than where they come from?"

"You could say that," he allowed with a gentle smile and another pat to her hand.

"Did you leave family behind?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"What do you mean, 'in a manner of speaking'? Either you have family, or…" she began, only to stop as Wendell shook his head.

"My story is a simple one, but the facts that make it simple would not be simple for you to comprehend, my dear. In fact, if my experiences with the local villagers are any measure, you would find them very difficult to accept; and I would have you enjoy your little time with us without straining your credulity more than necessary."

"I don't understand," Meg said after a long moment, during which she struggled to wrap her mind around the mystery Wendell was putting before her. "You worried about me having no one; but it seems that I'm not the only one with that problem."

Wendell's gaze dropped to the ground in front of him, and the way his sandal moved the dust and gravel around. "When I came to this world, I was one of five; and now, of all of us, only I remain. But while I am alone, I am not solitary: Lord Celeborn will not let me withdraw into my rooms for long without summoning me forth again. He would give me whatever I wished, were it in his power to do so."

"But it's not always possible, is it?" Meg's heart went out to this friendly and warm companion. He sounded very much like she felt, sitting in an empty Edinburgh flat tasked with locking up after Sally had taken what little was left of Gene to London.

He gave her a wry glance before looking away again. "Celeborn's strength is in his wisdom; and that wisdom bade him remain in this world yet apart from it after all others had long abandoned it. He is a kindred spirit that loves this land with a passion that will not fade; and I am indeed lucky that, if I cannot be among my own, I can at least share that with him." He patted her hand again and then loosed it. "He may not be able to give me my heart's desire, but I can survive on what he _can_ provide."

With that, he rose and extended his hand out to help Meg to her feet. "We should probably head back; Norwen is not in the habit of forgiving those who do not appear at the fifth bell for supper."

Meg lifted her head and could just barely catch the bell that was chiming. Wendell's tale confused and saddened her, but he obviously was trying to move past that. She decided the best thing would be to simply follow his lead. "Will we be late?"

"Nay." Wendell pasted a smile on his face again. "That was but the fourth bell. I have just enough time to get you back to the House with time to spare to freshen yourself before the fifth bell. Do you wish me to escort you again from your rooms to the dining hall, so you do not lose yourself?"

"Would you be terribly disappointed in me if I said yes - that I have seen so much that I am still completely confused by the place?"

The wavy, brown hair was tossed back as Wendell laughed, and Meg could feel herself glow with pride that she had brought him back to a good mood. "No, I am not disappointed at all, Lady Meg. I count myself lucky that I can speak your tongue and play escort and interpreter for you, and thus perhaps enjoy your company more than any of the others."

She blushed and allowed him to tuck her hand back into the bend of his elbow. _He isn't the only lucky one,_ she thought with an inward smile.

oOoOo

Meg couldn't help but enjoy the softness of the towel she applied to her face and upper torso. Even though the water in the ewer had been less than warm, it had felt good to wash away the little bit of dust from the day. And, folded neatly on the foot of the bed when she had arrived, had been her clothing from the day before - including her sports bra! Finally feeling a little more secure, she opened the wardrobe and gazed at the dresses hanging from the pegs. They were there, obviously meant for her use; and she was feeling a little more secure in her welcome - did she dare?

The dress closest to her was a delicate green, and the fabric flowed over her hands like soft clouds. Carefully, she lifted it from the peg and held it against herself, again thinking that it just _might_ fit her after all - _if_ she could figure out how to get it on. There seemed to be no buttons, no zipper - nothing that opened; and certainly it wouldn't just fit over her head, would it?

It did. Light and flowing, it slipped over her shoulders easily and draped to just above the ankle. There were ties stitched to the dress at the waist that, when pulled to the back, made the bodice a nicely fitted one, and gave definition to the skirt. Meg tied the two pieces of soft fabric into a small bow at the small of her back and then walked into the privy to take a look at herself in the small mirror.

The green looked good on her - better, actually, than she'd expected. Her long, dark curls against the delicate light green were striking, and the way the mid-length sleeves draped her upper arms was nothing less than simple elegance. When she got the opportunity, she would have to have Wendell translate her appreciation to Norwen, for she felt almost as if she had just donned a prom gown made just for her. She picked up her hairbrush and began trying to tame her wayward curls into something suitably appropriate, only to remember she had brought nothing but a single Scunzzi and not a single hairpin. She would have to be content with just leaving it alone and hoping.

Behind the trio of voices that had been singing sweetly for most of the afternoon, a bell chimed five times; and the moment the last chime sounded, there was a knock at her door. This time, however, she didn't need awakening. She walked to the door and opened it, and then smiled at the look of surprised admiration in Wendell's gaze. "Is this appropriate?"

"Very." His voice was warm and slightly deeper than usual. "I must remember to thank Norwen for her help in selecting your wardrobe. She has outdone herself."

Meg blushed deeply, as much from pleasure as from not being accustomed to such compliments. "Thank you. But I fear my boots ruin the image." She pressed on the skirt to reveal she was still wearing her boots.

"I can almost guarantee that people will not be studying your footwear," he replied with a twinkle in his eye, "and those who are would not be worried about your mixture of fashion styles." He extended his arm. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, thank you." Meg put her hand on his arm, in the place he seemed to like her to keep it. "Or, I should say, _hannon le, _Wendell."

"_Glassen_, _hiril nîn_," he responded, and again his voice had deepened slightly.

They walked down the same corridor they had walked the evening before, lit by the same soft, blue lights; but Meg felt none of the hesitation that she had experienced the last time. Her day had been spent meeting many of those who would be sitting at the lower tables, smiling at them and receiving smiles in return; and she was dressed more like one of them. She no longer feared her welcome as the two of them crossed the empty floor of the large room and headed for the lit doorway.

Lord Celeborn, as before, was still standing at his place; and with a graceful gesture, indicated that Meg was to return to the seat she had occupied the evening before. Even he seemed both surprised and pleased in her choice of attire, and Meg congratulated herself on her bravery at trying on the dress. Haldir watched her progress with quite obvious surprise as well as some remaining surliness, although Meg didn't let her gaze rest on him for long. Rúmil's gaze was equally intent, but far less menacing.

Again, the moment Lord Celeborn took his seat, Norwen was carrying things from the kitchen - this time a platter with a healthy shank of roasted meat. She had two assistants this evening, each similarly burdened and bound for the other tables. Meg leaned toward Wendell. "Does she eat after everyone else? That isn't right…"

"She has already eaten," Wendell chuckled back at her, "and I shall tell her of your concern on her behalf. It is a privilege that is always accorded those who prepare the food."

"I think I like your traditions - at least, that one," Meg stated emphatically. Not being a very good cook herself, she had always resented, in a way, the manner in which others at her mother's and grandmother's table had treated the women who prepared their food like servants. She waited until Norwen had deposited the platter on the table after slicing servings for all seated, and then said softly, "_Hannon le, _Norwen."

Norwen brightened with a startled smile. "_Glassen, hiril _Meg," she murmured with a slight flush to her cheeks, and then bowed and headed back to the kitchen to bring the next item to the table.

"Your traditions are different?" Wendell touched her wrist to catch her attention.

"Sometimes," she nodded. "I remember both my mother and my grandmother being treated rather poorly after they'd worked so hard; it always used to make me a little angry. It's a relief to see I don't need to feel the same here."

Lord Celeborn leaned over and asked something of Wendell, and Meg surmised it was what they had been discussing. When Wendell answered, the silver-haired Lord looked at her and nodded with a gentle smile before speaking. "Each one here works as their skills and preferences lead them, and each is necessary in his task. There is no one task more honored than another, as each benefits us all," Wendell translated with an agreeing nod.

Meg looked down and studied her plate. So much in Imladris was old-fashioned and quaint, but the thinking of the people here was based on much more cooperative and respectful principles than in her own world. For however long she was being allowed to remain here as an observer, she was getting a look at how things _could_ be.

"Why the look of sadness?" Wendell leaned toward her, ostensibly to take the platter of steamed peas from Celeborn.

She gazed at her friend. "Because I am coming to appreciate what you have here, over and above just the beauty of the place. I wish…"

"You wish…" he prompted gently.

Meg knew it was impossible. She had a job waiting for her, responsibilities that were hers in a far more heartless world. She knew nothing of how to live in this place, or what she could possible offer as her "essential task" that would benefit the whole. "Nothing," she muttered and busied herself cutting her slab of meat into bite-sized chunks. "Nothing important."

"Meg."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't important, really."

Lord Celeborn asked a question over the top of her head, and Wendell answered it almost hurriedly before laying his hand on her forearm and stilling her movements. "Meg, wishes _are_ important. They are what tell us where our hearts would have us go. Don't shut yours away so cruelly."

Meg gazed at him, the wish to tell him that she would much rather remain here in this apparently idyllic place rather than return to her dry and unfulfilling job in Los Angeles making her heart beat faster for a moment. "It may be where my heart would have me go, but I know it to be impossible. I don't belong here."

"Would you wish to?" he asked, his voice deepening slightly again and his face growing still and almost wary.

"It doesn't matter," she replied quietly. "I will enjoy the time I've been given, and I will remember this place, and you, for the rest of my life."

"Trust me, your memory will remain here with us for a very long time as well," he replied after a long moment. "But we shall discuss this again some time, perhaps when you are not so unwilling to share your dreams."

"Let's talk of something else, shall we?" Meg said in a deliberately brighter tone, pasting a smile on her face. "Something enjoyable."

"Very well." Frustration washed briefly over his features before he, too, schooled his expression to something contented, but very brittle. "You can tell me what you would like to do once we have delivered your mare back to her owner."

Meg paused in her chewing, mulling over the many things she had seen that day that she would dearly love to be able to spend more time with. "Spend more time in the library," she answered after finally chewing and swallowing her previous bite, "and maybe learning a few more words and phrases in your language." She blushed and looked at Wendell from the corner of her eye. "Maybe you could even show me how the Sindarin alphabet works?"

Lord Celeborn asked a quick question that Meg surmised was for a translation of what she'd said, and Wendell spoke to his lord before turning back to her. "I would be most honored to help you learn more Sindarin. As your livelihood has much to do with words and writing, I can understand your interest."

"Would it also be possible to take some pictures?"

Wendell blinked. "Pictures? You are an artist as well, then?"

"No," she answered slowly. "I have a camera."

"A… ca-me-ra?"

Meg blinked back, and then realized that people who would have no electricity or sewer system would probably not be familiar with technology that she took for granted. "A camera is a device that allows me to preserve pictures of what I aim it at. The older ones used to use a film made of… celluloid, if I remember; mine is a digital camera."

Wendell began translating her words, but his translation was a slow one littered with painstakingly careful pronunciations of the obviously unfamiliar English terms. Lord Celeborn turned and gazed at her with curiosity as he asked his next question, which Wendell translated immediately. "Would it be possible for Lord Celeborn to examine this device?"

"Of course," she nodded. "I'd be happy to show it to him. I even took a few pictures before I knew that Imladris had people in it." She considered using her laptop to display the pictures at a larger size so more could see them at once, and then nixed the entire idea as potentially confusing people with more technology than they were prepared to see.

"In the time that I have spent in the village, I have seen very lifelike representations of people, some of them displayed in windows of some of the shops as… I believe they were marketing ploys, but could not be certain, as I do not read the language…"

Meg smiled. "Yeah. We call them advertisements. They're all over the place in my world; it's very difficult to go anywhere and _not_ see them."

Wendell translated the exchange, and Rúmil, from the other end of the table, spoke up and asked a question. She turned to hear what he'd asked. "Rúmil asks about the means by which you came across the sea. Did you take a ship?"

_Oh boy! How do I explain this one?_ Meg slowly shook her head. "I flew, in a vehicle that is able to do so and carry hundreds of people at one time."

Wendell's eyes got very wide. "Is this a common practice in your world - flying?" he asked in awestruck tones.

"Yes," she said gently. "Very common. When I go home, I will fly back."

The translation of her remarks drew only a snort of what could only be derision from Haldir, followed by a sharp statement that looked from his gestures to be quite dismissive.

"I took pictures of the plane before I got on," she added quickly, guessing at the content of the warrior's commentary. "When I demonstrate the camera, I can show you what it looks like."

Wendell relayed her words, only to have Lord Celeborn speak to his master of security in a very firm voice. "Lord Celeborn says that Haldir has forgotten how very many long-years we have remained out of touch with the world of Men, and that we should not be so quick to discount anything you say merely because it would seem more like the Dark One's magic to us."

"The… Dark One?" Meg frowned. "What do you mean?" Wendell passed her words to Lord Celeborn, who immediately looked into Meg's eyes with a sharp and penetrating gaze. After a long moment, where she began to feel as if her very soul were being weighed, she looked at Wendell. "Did I say anything wrong?"

Celeborn commented quietly to Wendell, and then indicated that he speak to Meg. "No, you have said nothing wrong. It had not occurred to us that the tales that to us are history would have been long since lost to your people. To us, the memories are all too clear. The Dark One was the one who wished to claim the world and all in it as his own against the intent of the Creator; and the struggle against him was long and bloody. Then, once we had vanquished him and he was thrust into the Void, his chief servant began to try to step into his Master's shoes; and more lives were lost in that long struggle. In the end, some of those who, in their way, served the cause of the Dark One's servant began to create mechanisms - machines, devices - which laid waste to the places of the world.

"Haldir's comment was not so much dismissing your claims as false as speculating that the world has once more been touched by the Dark One's minions; and your device for pictures is but a sweet coating to a much more bitter reality." He ducked his head briefly. "I am to apologize for the suspicion."

Meg finally looked up and gazed at Haldir. _It's true, he fears me because he doesn't know what I might be capable of!_ What could she say in the face of the story she'd just heard to reassure him of her innocent intentions? The events Wendell had recounted sounded more like a paraphrasing of religious teachings about the creation of the world; but the manner in which the story had been told had sounded more… personal than that, as if it were… Wendell had said it himself: to them, the story was history; but to her people, it had been lost. She gazed at him and then at Lord Celeborn, suddenly uncertain of herself. _Who _are_ these people?_

She couldn't remain silent though. "I won't lie to you; there is a lot of ugliness in my world - a lot of that which some of you, and even some in my world, would call 'evil' - but that I know of, I don't… I'm not…" She faltered, and then leaned to make her words more private. "Wendell, I know my world isn't half as kind and generous and beautiful as yours. I don't _see_ it as 'evil' or under the influence of any 'Dark One', but… maybe Haldir's right?" She sighed; as much as she would want pictures of her stay, perhaps it _would_ be better if she just hung onto the memories. "I don't have to take pictures. I can remember without them."

Wendell straightened and spoke at length, first to Lord Celeborn and then to Haldir; and then looked at Meg. "I do not see that you have been touched by the Dark One, nor that you would willingly have brought evil to us. I will see this ca-me-ra that you speak of, and see what it does before I say more." He bent to make his words more private. "Eat, my dear, and do not let this spoil your appetite. This is a puzzle caused by the collision of two worlds long set apart that we cannot solve at the dinner table; and I have no fears of you. Your world may be strange to us and filled with many things that we do not understand; but our confusion does not in itself make them evil."

Meg nodded thoughtfully. "A lot of people tend to be afraid of things they don't understand. It isn't that surprising."

The dark eyebrows soared in surprise. "Such wisdom, and so clearly spoken!" He immediately switched to Sindarin and spoke with animation. Whatever he had said, Lord Celeborn's face relaxed into the kind of smile that made Meg feel as if a light had been lit. Even dour Haldir looked startled, and gazed at her with more speculation than suspicion for a change. Rúmil threw his head back and laughed, a full-throated and clear sound that tickled Meg more than anything she'd heard so far; and he punched his brother in the shoulder and said something that had Haldir glowering at his brother in response.

Meg looked back at Wendell and blushed, for he was gazing at her with an expression of wistfulness and curiosity. "What?" she asked, smiling at the antics that continued at the other end of the table.

"I am thinking that I have not met one like you for a very long time, and I am enjoying the experience a great deal," he replied softly, glancing away. "And I am finding myself wishing that you did _not_ have to return to your world at the end of your little time."

She grew wistful herself. "I've found myself wishing the same," she finally admitted, and then hid behind her ceramic mug of fresh water.

Again the brows rose, but this time as Wendell's face blossomed with a wide smile. "You do?"

Meg blushed. "I haven't felt this peaceful for a long time. And even though I still miss my brother a lot, for some reason it doesn't hurt quite so badly." She smiled back at him. "Maybe it's because I'm actually _with_ someone and _doing _something other than moping."

"Perhaps," he replied, moving his hand to lay on top of hers. "But we shall have to see when the end of your 'little time' draws to a close. There are still nine days before us."

"Even if Lord Celeborn declares my camera a work of the Dark One?" She meant her quip as a joke, but understood that it would be taken as anything but.

His dark eyes grew serious. "I have seen into you, Meg Litten; there is no hint of darkness there that does not come from a natural grief. The Dark One has no hold on you. If it were up to me, you would be offered a place here, after all the necessary details were discussed." He smiled again. "We shall enjoy your 'little time' here, and then see what the One has placed before us. Agreed?"

Meg wasn't exactly certain who this 'The One' was - or whether Wendell was speaking of that 'Dark One' from before - but either way, she was determined to make the best of the time she had left in this magical place. "Agreed," she said, and felt the warmth of his smile through the slight pressure he put on her hand before releasing her again.


	5. Exchanges

Chapter 5 - Exchanges

Her hands were shaking as she dug through the saddlebag draped at the foot of her bed, and then pulled the slender silver case out. Knowing that without turning it on, it would be relatively harmless, she handed it to Lord Celeborn without a word. Grey eyes filled with many questions gazed at her for a moment before he began examining the little device closely, turning it over and over in his long fingers. He touched the view screen carefully, as if understanding that this was a delicate part of the thing, and peered closely at the markings next to buttons that seemed, at the moment, to do little.

Finally he handed it back to her with a few words. Meg knew without Wendell's translation that she'd been asked to demonstrate. She turned the knob that retracted the lens cover and allowed the lens itself to slide outward, and then looked up as even Lord Celeborn gave a small gasp of surprise. She fought with herself, remembering how long it had taken to save up the money for the best camera she could afford, and then carefully handed the device back to Lord Celeborn.

Again he handled it gingerly, his brows furrowed slightly as he watched the strange movement of light and shadow on the view screen. He shook his head, telling her without words that he still didn't understand it, and handed it back again. Deciding a full demonstration was in order, Meg turned her back and moved closer to the tall Lord. She aimed the camera at the hearth after gesturing for all to move out of the way, then held up the camera and pointed at the view screen so that Lord Celeborn and all close to him could see the hearth represented. She pushed the shutter button, the flash lit up the room and caused another audible gasp from those gathered around her.

Lord Celeborn's hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to see him frowning. He aimed a quick spate of words at Wendell, who immediately translated: "What has happened?"

Meg smiled, pressed the review button that brought up the picture of the hearth she had just taken, and handed Lord Celeborn the camera again - viewer side up. Grey eyes grew wide as he gazed over at the hearth and then down at the viewer screen. The others gathered around and peered over shoulders and around arms to get a look, soft whispers accompanying the glimpses of a simple view of Meg's chamber, captured on the tiny screen.

"How does this little box paint such things so quickly?" Wendell translated Rúmil's question to Meg.

She shrugged. "I don't know the mechanics of digital photography. All I know is that I aim that," and she pointed at the protruding lens, "at what I would like to take a picture of, and then I push that," at which point she indicated the shutter button. "The light flashes, and the picture is taken."

"Does it hurt if you take a picture of a person?" was another soft question from one of the women.

"No," she answered with a shake of the head. "If Lord Celeborn wishes, he may take my picture." She reached over the Lord's hands and turned the review button off. "He needs to point the lens - that thing that sticks out - at me and then watch the screen. When it shows what he wants in the picture, he just presses the button. I'll go over here, so nobody else will be in the picture." She stepped away and over to near the hearth as Wendell translated. "Tell him, whenever he's ready."

The silver-haired Lord fussed with turning the camera in every direction until finally the lens was pointing at Meg, and his eyes widened again. "Tell him to hold it very still, and move it until he likes what he sees - and then press the button." When the flash went off, she saw many around Celeborn jump again, and then the Lord was frowning again.

"Why does he not see a painting of you, lady?" Wendell asked, peering at the little screen over Celeborn's shoulder.

"Just a moment. I'll show you." She moved closer again and reached over the little device to press the review button again. Immediately the screen filled with her face, although it was slightly blurry.

Celeborn's eyes widened again, and he turned the camera about to check all the sides. "Where did the hearth painting go?" was the relayed question.

"It's still there." Meg pressed the dial to go back to the previous picture. "See?"

Again Celeborn twisted the camera about, and again he posed a question and then waited for his words to be transferred into English. "It keeps each painting? How many until the box will hold no more?"

"Quite a few," Meg answered, retrieving the camera from Celeborn once more. "But what does Haldir think of this?"

Her words translated, the others in the room turned to look at the master of security, who didn't look very happy at all to be the center of attention all of a sudden. But his nose rose, and he made a quiet comment that had others nodding in agreement. "He wonders of what use this would be."

"When I am home, and trying to describe Imladris to someone in Los Angeles, I could print out some of the photos and let them see for themselves," Meg answered easily. "And when I am thinking about everyone here, and everything I have seen, I could look at the pictures and remember more clearly."

Wendell's brows rose. "You would share the sights of Imladris with others?"

"I was just making an example," Meg replied, disconcerted by the worry she saw on his face. "Would you prefer that I not let anyone see?"

Lord Celeborn demanded something - probably to know what had Wendell looking so worried - and Wendell held up a hand and spoke briefly before turning back to her. "We have been very careful to protect ourselves from discovery by the world of Men, Meg. This little camera of yours, however innocent it might appear, could undo all of my long efforts."

Meg's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that," she said softly. With regret, she brought up the pictures that had just been taken on the review and deleted them, and then continued back through the pictures of her headboard, the little statue of the maid outside the front door, and even the views of Imladris from across the ravine. She let both Lord Celeborn and Wendell see what she was doing, until only words were visible, and then turned the camera off to hand it to Celeborn. "If you would, my Lord, please keep this for me until I am ready to go, and then hand it to Wendell, who will give it to me when we are safely away from Imladris. I don't want to do anything that would make you feel that I am threatening the safety of this beautiful place."

"And all the paintings that I just saw on this… smooth canvas?" Wendell asked, poking at the viewer with a forefinger. "What did you just do?"

"I deleted them," Meg replied. "Everything I had already taken - even those pictures I took before I met you all - are gone now." She sighed. "Like I said earlier, I don't think I'll need the pictures so much - I can just remember."

Lord Celeborn bowed, his empty hand pressed over his heart. "By turning this ca-me-ra into my possession, you demonstrate your wish to protect us; and in so doing, do us honor," Wendell relayed somberly. "Were you in any way under the Dark Lord's influence, you would not have demonstrated what you already had seen and painted for later - nor done what you did to remove those paintings from your device." Celeborn turned to Haldir, and Wendell continued to translate for him. "Has she proven your suspicions unfounded yet?"

Oh, Meg could see that the admission was hard-wrung; but Haldir did bow and nod his head. "What now?" she asked Wendell.

"I would imagine Lord Celeborn will lock away your little ca-me-ra, and then return to the Hall of Fire. We are to enjoy music and storytelling, now that the meal is over."

"Music?" After the stress of the past few moments, relaxing and listening to music sounded wonderful. "Will you try to tell me what the storyteller says?"

Wendell claimed her hand and nestled it onto his arm, and then held his other hand over hers almost possessively. "I will do my very best to do just that should the story be a spoken one," he said, his voice again just a little lower and warmer. "I will not need to do so for the music, however."

"Oh?" Now it was Meg's turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise.

"Trust me, my lady. We have been told that our music needs no translation often enough that I trust that it is true. You shall have to tell me, though, if it is true for you as well."

Impulsively, Meg covered his hand with her other one. The evening was going to have a good end after all, and that was all that mattered.

She was pleased when Wendell led her to a low bench against the wall not far from the great hearth, which had been well-filled and now burned with a steady, pleasing flame. What was more interesting was that he didn't immediately let loose of her hand, but held it loosely while, with his other, pointed out various of the other residents and gave her names and occupations. By the time the instrumentalists filed in and settled themselves in the open place among the occupied seats, Meg was certain her head was completely full of information she wouldn't remember in the morning.

And when the music started, she quickly abandoned any intention of trying to remember much other than the fact that she had never heard music like this before. Lyrical and sweet, expertly played, the melodies caught at her imagination and made her close her eyes so she could listen more closely. Vague images began to fill her head, images that came clearer as the song progressed, images of beautiful women dancing in the woods, of handsome men happening across them and the love that grew.

It was as if she were watching a love story set to music, and knew when the lovers were happy, when they were sad, when they celebrated the birth of their child, and when at last the man died and the woman couldn't stay in the world without him. As the last chords were played and the moment of silence that always follows a virtuoso performance stretched, Meg awoke from the half-dream of the music to realize that her cheeks were damp from tears.

She also noticed that Wendell had yet to let go of her hand. He sensed her return to the present and looked over at her with a soft smile, then fumbled with his free hand in a pocket of his robe. "Here," he said, offering her a fine linen handkerchief, "some friends from long ago convinced me that it was a good thing to carry one of these around, just in case of emergencies. I think this qualifies."

Meg laughed self-consciously as she dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, then sniffled. "That is what you call storytelling?"

"Did you like it?"

"Like it?" She was incredulous. "I've never heard anything so magnificent in my life!"

"Good." He looked supremely contented. "Good."

oOoOo

Meg settled the saddlebags across the very back end of the saddle and couldn't help but admire the way the worn rental saddle looked as if it were newly crafted. She would have to find a way to say thank you to Alargon, for it was he that managed the stables and the riding equipment for the entire settlement; so it had to have been Alargon to polish the saddle until it shone. The sound of more hooves nearby brought her head up, and she blinked at Wendell's leading a grey from the stable without saddle or reins - and only a bit of padding over the back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He blinked. "Forgetting something?"

"Like a saddle?" She pointed.

"No, I'm not forgetting anything," he replied then with a grin, and with nothing but a hand at the neck of the grey, led the horse closer. "I put the pad there for you on the return trip, figuring you might not be used to spending much time on horseback without something."

Meg eyed the padding suspiciously. "Well, you're right I haven't much experience riding bareback - but even less riding without reins - or at least a halter and lead."

Wendell gave the neck of his grey a fond pat. "Losmith needs no reins or lead; he will take me wherever I tell him to go." The brown eyes were twinkling again, and Meg was learning that she was a sucker for dark eyes that twinkled as gaily as his. "Trust me, we will have no trouble finding our way back home." He gestured to the limp bags. "Do you have everything you need?"

"I'm coming back here, so I really don't need anything…"

"And it will take us far past the midday to ride to the village and back. Did you stop by the kitchen? I believe Norwen has some provender set aside for us." He laughed at her expression. "Never mind. I shall fetch it, as much because I know the… how do you say it… short path to the kitchen."

"Short-cut," she corrected and then sighed. "I didn't think of that…"

"Then you shall be happy to have me as a companion for the day," he called back to her before he swung around a corner and out of sight.

"I'm perfectly happy with you as a companion for the day anytime," Meg said to herself as she fussed with Sadie's forelock. Even Sadie herself looked sleeker and better groomed than she'd been standing in her owner's stable. Mr. McHugh would certainly not be able to complain about her treatment of his mare - or his tack - while they were in her possession. The mare's ears twitched, paying close attention to her rider almost as if she could understand. "I bet you wouldn't mind sticking around longer either, from the looks of it."

Sadie tossed her head and whickered softly before lipping at Meg's cheek gently.

"I know." Meg stroked the soft velvet muzzle and gazed around. Across the courtyard stood the little stone maiden that had greeted her less than two days before. "We had no idea what was waiting for us when we came here, did we? This place…" She turned; the ancient trees that lined the courtyard seeming even more like sentinels, although what they were guarding against - other than the intrusion of people like her - she couldn't entirely fathom. "This place is very, very special. You'd better not tell any of your horsie friends down below about it, just as I'll have to stay mum about it when I get home too. Not that I have anybody I like enough to tell anyway…"

"What?" Wendell's voice behind her startled her, and she flinched. "You have no one that you like well enough? Here, you can tuck this into those empty bags of yours, and we can eat just before we turn your Sadie back in." He held out two cloth-bound bundles at her with a concerned expression.

"I think the only person I could have shared Imladris with was Gene - and he's gone now," Meg answered and busied herself stuffing the anonymous bundles away. "And after last night's discussion, I don't think there is anyone that I know well enough to want to mention this place to. If protecting Imladris is important to you, then it will be important to me too."

"It is just that the more you speak of this place to which you must return, the less I like the idea. Have you no one in the world of Men with whom you can share confidences now that your brother has stepped beyond the circles of the world?" His voice indicated that he'd stepped closer.

Meg shook her head. "It's hard to make friends when you work at a place where everyone is trying to push down the other person to get ahead. Competition is fierce, and it doesn't lead to sharing confidences." She took a deep breath to try to settle the surge of sadness at the thought of having to return to such a sterile situation and then pasted a smile on to turn to him. "Are we ready now?" she asked tightly.

"Meg, it is to this place that you _wish_ to return?" Wendell's eyes weren't sparkling anymore.

She sighed and turned away to gather the reins and reach for the pommel of the saddle. "What I _wish_ is just a dream," she answered once she was settled in the saddle. "I really don't have a lot of say in it."

When she thought of it later, she would not be able to remember the precise move that Wendell made to land himself quite gracefully and securely on the back of the grey. "I think you have more say in your future than you might think," he answered quietly. "And I can see that I have a little more than eight days to convince you of this."

"What would you do with me here?" Meg asked with a wave of her hand backwards toward the building behind them as they walked their mounts toward the opening in the stone wall. "I don't speak the language, I can't write it either. I have no skill to offer the whole, as Lord Celeborn states that each here does. It wouldn't be fair…"

"We have eight days and a few hours more to find something that you _could_ do, if you truly wanted to stay," he answered firmly. "I am certain we could find something that you could find both useful and satisfying…"

"I still have my responsibilities _there_; I can't just walk away from everything I've known, and people who are depending on me to return when I said I would," she sighed. "And just walking away _isn't done._"

Wendell kept his grey behind Sadie until they had crossed the bridge over the ravine, and he could put himself at her side. "Why is such a thing not done? Do you not have the freedom to choose your own path in your world?"

"Please, let's not talk about that," Meg begged. "Tell me about _you_. You told me you were five who came? Where did you come from, and who did you come with?" She gazed at him with open entreaty; she didn't want to think about Los Angeles, Bryant and Sons, or never seeing him again - anything but that!

She could see that he didn't want to change the subject, but he relented with a sigh. "My brothers and I came from a place called Valinor. As I said, there were five of us, originally. Two departed eastward almost the moment they landed on this shore, and neither I nor any of the rest ever heard of their fates. Another traveled through as many lands as he could, taking care of the task we had been set, but became engrossed in the study of lore that ended with him falling in with the Dark One's servant and eventually being overthrown as well. The last also traveled a great deal, but he never stayed long in any one place."

"What were their names - and you said you had several names too, what is _your_ real name?"

Wendell shot her a glance. "You remembered that, did you? Well, 'Wendell' is the way those here in the area heard my Quenya name 'Aiwendil'. Those like Lord Celeborn, who speak the Grey Tongue, call me Radagast."

"Ai… Ai…?"

"Aiwendil," he pronounced it more slowly this time and then corrected her attempts. "Truly, I am content to hear you call me Wendell. My brothers who vanished were Pallando and Alatar. My fallen brother was called Cúrunir, or Saruman in the Grey Tongue. My wandering brother's name was Olórin; but those he met anointed him with many names, some of them less than complimentary: Gandalf, Mithrandir, Greyhame, Stormcrow…"

"Strange names," Meg said with a shake of her head. "And I've never heard of Valinor before. Where is it?"

"Across the sea - to the west," he answered slowly. "It is the land that some of the others believed you came from."

Meg blinked. "There is no other land to the west of here than the Americas, Wendell."

"No, I suppose there aren't," he agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You're either pulling my leg, or you're being deliberately mysterious," she accused.

He gazed at her, his eyes almost sad. "Like many things concerning Imladris, I tell you the truth, but not all of it. I would rather you enjoy your eight days and few hours with us without wondering if we were insane people."

"You keep asking me if I would want to stay, though; how can I make up my mind on something that… major… without knowing this horrible truth you cannot tell me?" she returned.

"I have no intentions of keeping the truth from you forever, Meg," Wendell said softly. "I merely want you to enjoy Imladris and all it has to offer with a completely open mind. Then, as time grows short, you will learn what it is I and the others would rather you not know; and you can make your choice then."

"Is it that bad?"

"It may strain at your ability to believe, I think," he replied apologetically. "Much about Imladris will strain at that, frankly; which is why we… _I_… would rather you experience what it is to be there before you have to face things that may seem… unlikely." He looked away up the path to the brink of the ravine. "It is important to me that you make up your own mind about many things before that point."

Meg colored and remained quiet for a long time before she finally worked up the nerve to ask, "Important to _you_?"

Surprisingly, Wendell seemed to hunch a bit. "Yes." Then he straightened and gazed at her, his expression guarded. "Does that surprise you?"

For the first time, Meg considered that perhaps Wendell was a more vulnerable person than she'd thought. By his own word, he was alone among the other residents of Imladris - how was it he put it? _'Alone but not solitary.'_ "I suppose not," she answered finally. "I'm finding that I like you too."

Only his eyes showed the astonished glee, and it vanished almost the moment that it appeared; but the fact that she actually saw it warmed her heart. _He's the closest thing I've had to a friend in years, and maybe he likes me a little as well. Why else would the idea of my staying on at Imladris be so important to him that he would hide inconvenient truths about it in hopes of swaying my opinion?_ Meg knew that Imladris and all the mystery that it represented intrigued her; but now her interest had another focus, and a much more immediate one. And of all the reasons for her to consider whether or not she wanted to leave, _that_ reason might have more import than she'd originally thought.


	6. In Hot Water

Chapter 6 - Into Hot Water

Meg waited until Mr. McHugh was leading Sadie back toward his stable before turning from the road that led back into the village proper and heading back toward the park entrance. Wendell had remained off the road inside the park boundaries; and Meg was going to pay her admittance as someone wanting to use the hiking trails in order not to raise suspicions. He had shown her a way out of the park that was fairly private; but after seeing what it would take to get back into the park on foot at that place, she had decided against it.

"Afternoon, miss," the park ranger said with a tip of the hat. "What might ye be wantin' today?"

"A hiking pass," Meg asked, glancing quickly at the map of the park posted in the kiosk window. "I thought I'd just walk in to the lake and back today."

The ranger took her money and began filling in the form that would be her permit. "Ye made it out th' other day, then? I dinna see ye leave."

"Yes, it was a lovely ride too - thank you. I never knew that anything as beautiful as Slattadale existed before my sister-in-law told me about it." Meg cringed inside; it had been Gene, not Sally, to tell her of the beauty of the place - and of the mystery he'd found. She didn't like lies; they were too difficult to keep track of eventually, and the truth would only make things worse.

"Well, I heard that there be a storm brewin', so don't be too long on the walk. We don't want to have to send out the search and rescue, should you get caught in an early snow."

"I won't," Meg promised with a wave after folding her permit and tucking it into a pocket. She stuck strictly to the hiking trail until she got around a bend from the kiosk, and then ducked into the surrounding underbrush. _I hope they don't have anything like poison ivy or oak_, she thought as she pushed through, heading in the direction Wendell had told her to go.

"Over here," she heard him call softly, and pushed through a final set of brambles and into a small clearing. "Come on, up you go. We cannot wait here for long." He put down a hand and stuck out a booted foot to help her mount up behind him. "There is a storm brewing…"

"That's what the ranger said!" Meg commented, slipping her arms around his chest.

"Can you not smell the moisture in the air?" Wendell asked after saying a soft word and getting the grey to start moving again.

She shook her head. "I'm just worried that the guy will remember me and that I didn't exit the park on time," she worried. "It was during a search and rescue for a guy and his brother that Gene saw Imladris, you know…"

"Worry not, that will not happen again. Now that I know to hide us from above, the eyes of those who fly over this place will slide away from Imladris without even noting that there is a ravine there." He patted her hands, clenched at his chest.

Meg frowned. "What do you mean, 'the eyes of those who fly over will slide away'? What is it that you do?"

"I protect Imladris," he answered simply, "and I do so with skills that are mine to use. Have you not wondered why, with the modern vehicles and such, that the path to Imladris has not yet been plotted and set with all the others?"

"I didn't even know there _was_ a path until I got to the edge of the ravine," she reminisced. "I just followed what I remembered of the terrain that I saw from the air."

"But even then, had there not been a reason for you to find us, the path would have confounded you and left you back where you started," Wendell told her firmly. "Lord Elrond was the one who established those paths and their wards; there has never been a need to alter them." He stopped the horse and turned about to listen. "We must hurry, and waste no time in enjoying the sights."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing that cannot be remedied, unfortunately. I just was hoping this would not be needed, however," he murmured and turned the grey to face in the direction they'd come. Suddenly he sat up straighter, held out a hand, and clenched it; and Meg felt the air still about them as if they had entered a room and closed the door.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"Shhhhh!" he cautioned in a terse whisper. "Sight I might be able to deceive, but the sound of your voice still travels as the One intended and would give away our location."

Then Meg heard what Wendell had already heard - the sound of masculine voices and footfalls - and grew very still.

"Ye say ye're certain she came this way?"

"I called ahead, an' Doug said the lass never passed the first crossing." This was the voice of the ranger she had purchased her permit from! "She must be strolling off the path. Damn it, I _knew_ there were somethin' about her - an' the fact nobody ever saw her ride _out_ of the park the other day."

Sure enough, the two rangers appeared in a clearing only a few yards away, but seemed not to even notice the horse and riders. They paused only once to look intently in all directions; and then continued on their way, their discussion of her strangeness, as well as what purpose she might have sneaking around parts of the park that weren't open to the public, unabated.

Not until Wendell finally made the grey begin to walk again - and then urged it into a trot - did she dare question again. "What did you do? Why didn't they see us?"

"As I said, I merely made it so that the eyes would slide over us without noticing. I could have kept moving as well, but I was afraid that you might keep talking if I did; it is harder to hide voices as well as sight, and I had little time to prepare." He sounded as if it were something that he did on a daily basis.

"But how…"

He patted her hands around him. "Ah. That is one of the skills of my people, Meg - and the reason I am welcome and have a home in Imladris. It would be very difficult to explain the how; I very rarely stop to think about the how, only to consider the when and the why."

"You're not making any sense again."

His hand remained warm against hers, holding them in place. "I know, and I am sorry that it seems that I must confound you again. Truth be told, you would have a very difficult time believing me if I told you all."

"That _again_." She wasn't thrilled to run up against his stubbornness and refusal to try to explain the inexplicable.

"Bear with me, and try not to worry too much about that which confuses you for the next eight days less a few hours," he said, obviously trying to reassure her. "I know it is a lot to ask, but I have good reason to ask it; and you will know in due time both the answers to all your questions and the reason I asked your indulgence now."

Meg shook her head. "If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't have believed that you could… 'make eyes slide over us without noticing.' And if I didn't know you a little bit, what you just did would be more than a little frightening…"

"I do not wish to frighten you, Meg - far from it. But I fear saying more would only serve to frighten you needlessly."

"I think _that_ is almost as frightening as anything else I've seen or heard so far," she offered testily.

Wendell was quiet for a long moment. "And for that, I am truly sorry."

How he was guiding the grey, Meg couldn't figure out either. Perhaps it was the fact that he shifted often, that the way in which he sat the horse gave it direction; but he seemed to be able to communicate with the animal without use of reins or words, and the horse seemed able to move through fairly dense brush without any trouble at all. In fact, it almost seemed as if the brambles made an effort to part to allow them through.

The ride back to Imladris was far less leisurely than the ride to the village; but even so, the sky overhead was growing dark and forbidding by the time they arrived at the edge of the ravine. Meg found herself huddling against Wendell's back, for the breeze had stiffened and it was a chill one. He still held his hand over hers, however, and the warmth from that touch was heartening, despite the direction her thoughts had taken her since the end of their discussion.

What _was_ she doing, riding into a remote and prohibited region of a Scottish park with a man who could convince otherwise competent park rangers to simply not see them and guide his horse without any visible means at all? What _was_ she doing, returning to a place that seemed apart from any normal flow of time, a place that nobody other than she and her brother had ever happened on?

She wasn't a brave person; her idea of boldness had been moving to Los Angeles upon the death of their mother and the sale of the property in the Midwest. Gene had warned her; he'd lived for a few years in that semi-tropical and yet coldly impersonal city before marrying Sally, and he knew that a small-town girl like her would have difficulty there. She'd gotten her job on her qualifications and the recommendation that her father's old law partner had promised to give her, and landed herself in a cut-throat clerical position where most of the other women there were trying to oust her. Four years she'd been there now, none of them truly happy ones.

Did she honestly think it wise to jump from that grand mistake to agreeing to spend over a week virtually incommunicado in a mysterious estate far up into an ancient Scottish forest, at an estate located at the bottom of a ravine and probably out of any reach of cell phone service? If she ended up wishing for rescue, from what quarter could she hope to see it coming?

And what about Wendell? He wasn't young - certainly not as young as Lord Celeborn or any of the others at Imladris - but he wasn't old either. His hair was a luxurious brown without the slightest hint of grey, and was soft against her cheek as she huddled for warmth. And the torso beneath her arms felt hard and muscled, as if he were used to regularly doing hard labor. She knew so little about him that made any sense, and what she knew that didn't make sense was truly off the wall. Valinor: some place across the sea to the west? He might as well be speaking of Atlantis, for she knew all too well that there was _nothing_ between England and America beside a very few small islands - none of them named Valinor. She'd flown over that sea; she knew how empty and monotonous it was.

And yet…

There were moments when their eyes would meet, and Meg could feel the warmth and friendship they held for her like a palpable presence. Something was happening between the two of them that she wasn't entirely certain she was ready to examine yet. And that something must have been what had given her the courage to turn about and run back into the ancient Scottish forest with someone who sometimes spoke in riddles and did things that defied explanation. She had eight days with him - less a few hours, as he said - such a very little time indeed!

She felt the first of the raindrops hit the back of her neck, and soon she was soaked to the skin; but where she snuggled against Wendell's back, she was dry and warm, like standing before a welcoming hearth on a cold night. His hand on hers gave her heart, as did the song he was now singing. Beautiful, melodic, with words beyond her understanding, it nonetheless pierced the inclement weather and gave her mind something else far more pleasant to dwell on than the insecurity it had nurtured just a little while before.

She had eight days in one of the most peaceful places she'd ever known, spending time with a man she was finding all too interesting. She could do this - and she was in no danger whatsoever. Imladris was simply too beautiful a place to hold any danger for her.

For the time being, she would entertain no other thoughts than that.

oOoOo

Meg stood just inside the grand front doorway and shivered. From the top of her head to her toes, she was soaked everywhere but where she had leaned against Wendell on the horse; and there she was but damp from running from where he'd let her off up the steps and into the house. But Imladris was big and without central heating, so the entryway where she decided she would try to contain all of her drips to the floor was chilly. She stamped her feet and wrung the rain from her hair in hopes that she would feel as if she'd drained enough water away in just one spot not to make too much of a mess while trying to find her way to her rooms to change.

What she wouldn't give for a hot bath right now - if for no other reasons than to warm up and work out the stiffness from spending so much time on a horse!

She bent and removed her boots, unhappy that tucking her jeans into them that morning had meant that the moisture from the rain had wicked all the way down to her socks, leaving her feet wet and freezing. She'd changed her mind; all she wanted now was to stand in front of the great hearth in the Hall of Fire - or even just in front of the one in her suite - and dry herself before roaring flames.

One of the other women who worked in and around the house happened to walk past, and Meg saw her eyes widened as she took in Meg's wet and bedraggled condition and the puddle of water on the floor. Chattering as if she expected Meg to understand her every word, she left off whatever chore she'd been doing and took charge of an elbow to begin pulling. Not certain if she should resist or not, Meg finally gave in and allowed the woman to guide her toward a set of steps leading downward that she had never noticed before.

By the time she had descended halfway down the stairs, Meg could smell the sulphur; and then she remembered that Wendell had told her once that there were bathing rooms below. No longer unwilling, she followed her guide into a room hung with so many filmy curtains it was impossible to tell how large or small it was. Her guide held aside one of those curtains and escorted her into what turned out to be a small cubby that held little other than a short, stone bench and a recessed hole in the floor filled with steaming water.

The curtain dropped, closing them in, and her guide immediately pointed to a spot next to the bench and indicated that Meg should put her boots there. The moment Meg complied, the guide was before her, carefully undoing the buttons on her wet flannel shirt. When Meg began to help, her guide held up a finger and then disappeared through the billowing curtain, only to return with a woven basket. Into it, she had Meg toss her soaked shirt, her jeans, and her socks; but it took coaxing to get Meg out of her sports bra and panties. But the moment she had resigned herself to being stripped, the woman put out a hand and nodded at the steaming water.

A hot bath had never felt so good! There were steps down into the deliciously warm water that served as a seat once Meg had descended. Her guide adjusted something to her side that made the level of the water begin to rise - only to go to the other end and adjust something else so that the level of hot water returned to its previous state. Another raised finger and a few words, and her guide disappeared again through the curtains, this time returning with thick toweling and what looked like a warm robe. These she set on the bench, and then placed a small bowl within Meg's reach that was filled with more of the semi-liquid soap like that in her suite.

Finally, the woman crouched and asked Meg something, pointing around at the bath and the items she'd brought. _Is she asking if I need anything else? _Meg shook her head. "_Hannon le,_" she remembered finally, sinking with a grateful sigh into the warm water up to her neck.

"_Glassen, hiril nîn_," was the response, compounded by a stream of words that included mention of what sounded like the odd version of Wendell's name and Celeborn's as well. With another nod of satisfaction, her guide picked up the basket of drenched clothing and backed out of the curtain for the last time.

"Wait!" Meg called, only to sigh again. She probably wouldn't see her sports bra again until sometime the next day, but it was a small price to pay for the warmth she was enjoying now. At least she would be warm and modest when she did climb from the bath - if she didn't end up relaxing so much that she fell asleep.

Wishing she didn't have to spoil the clean water, she dipped her fingers in the soap and worked into a lather to rub into her soaked hair. The soap was not quite as fine as she was used to at home, but it had a pleasant scent of lavender that soothed. She leaned her head back and rinsed the soap away; and only then saw that the way the water was moving in the bath carried most of the soap away and out the drain, leaving clean, hot water behind. It was a simple design, but worked very well - like so much here.

Meg was almost beginning to doze when she heard the voice of the woman who had guided her here, and soon enough the curtain was lifted aside to admit the familiar lady. The woman's smile was wide, but her gestures were easily enough understood: it was time to get out. She had the huge towel unfolded and ready as Meg stepped up and out of the water, and then unfolded a smaller one that she applied to the wet hair. The moment Meg was completely wrapped in the towel, up came the robe to cover it. The woman again made adjustments at both ends of the bath and then gestured for Meg to follow her back up the stairs.

The sound of the heavy rain dripping from the roof into the garden made a peaceful counterpoint to the very soft brush of feet against the stone floor. Meg hadn't realized how much time had passed until she glanced at the nearest window and found that it was already dark outside. _Did I fall asleep in the bath after all?_ She wished she could ask her attendant, but settled for the satisfaction of at least knowing that she hadn't been forgotten down there until she was a complete prune.

When her guide turned through one of the doors that lined the corridor and into Meg's suite of rooms, Meg breathed a sigh of relief. "_Hannon le,…_" She gestured with a roll of her hand at the wrist with raised brows, hoping to learn her helper's name. The woman paused in her lighting candles and quickly setting together wood for a fire in the hearth; and she gazed from the evidently strange gesture to Meg's face, thoroughly confused. Meg thought for a bit, then pressed her hand to her chest. "Meg." Then she reached both hands out to the woman with another hopeful look.

"_Ai! Im Iavas, hiril nîn,_" the woman responded, her eyes lighting with understanding.

"Ah!" Meg sighed again with contentment. "_Hannon le, Imiavas._"

"_Uin._" The woman shook her head and seemed to be thinking. Then she rose to mimic Meg's outreaching gesture. "_Ci Meg,_" she began, then moved her hands inward to touch her chest. "_Im Iavas._" She watched Meg's face fold into confusion and pointed to her. "Meg." Then she pointed at herself. "Iavas."

Oh! _That_ was the problem. "Ah! _Hannon le, Iavas._" Meg smiled again, hoping she'd finally got it right.

"_Glassen, hiril nîn_," was the smiling reply.

"_Im?_" Meg pondered what that little word meant.

"_Im,_" Iavas repeated, tapping her own chest. "_Ci,_" she said next, patting Meg on the arm.

"Oh!" How could she have missed something so basic? She tapped herself. "_Im Meg, ci Iavas._"

"_Ma._" Iavas was nodding. She'd gotten it right now.

What was that sentence that took her so long to learn yesterday? Oh, yes: "_Goheno nîn, Iavas, u-bedin Thindarim._"

"Pfff!" Iavas shook her head at her and chattered at her, making Meg wonder if she was being told that it was only a matter of time before that wouldn't be the case. Iavas beckoned, and Meg followed into the bedroom, where there was a lovely dark blue gown laid out on the bed next to a fine underskirt and camisole. The sight of the undergarments reminded her that she had lost her own; and the thought of going commando beneath that lovely dress in front of people like Wendell and Lord Celeborn wasn't all that appealing.

"Iavas," Meg complained, and then began miming pulling up panties and then throwing her hand out. Iavas tipped her head, obviously confused. Meg then cupped her bosom and demonstrated the manner in which she had removed her sports bra, and then pulled up her imaginary panties again. "My underwear. I have no underwear."

Finally, after a third attempt at miming, what she was miming got through, and Iavas held up that one finger again before heading to the wardrobe. There were knobs and handles that opened places that she hadn't even thought to explore yet, and from one of them Iavas pulled a set of very fine silken drawers with a drawstring. She held them up for Meg's perusal and tipped her head. "_Mae?_"

Meg took the drawers from her companion with a nod; they would feel very strange, but it was better than having nothing at all. And although she really would have preferred to have her sports bra back, the heavier velvet would hide her less than supported condition well enough. Iavas pointed to the sitting room and chattered at her, gesturing for her to dress herself, and then returned to the sitting room. Meg followed just far enough to see her bend once more to get the fire started in the hearth, and then she pulled back to slip into the drawers without an audience.

She had managed to put on and tie the underskirt and pull the camisole over her head by the time Iavas returned. With her help, she had the heavy drape of velvet skirt pulled over her head and tied at the back, and then the bodice. Iavas fussed at the back, and the bodice tightened nicely so that Meg didn't feel quite so unbound anymore.

The dress - even more grand than what she had worn the evening before - was actually warm, with loose velvet sleeves that covered to her mid forearm. All that was missing… She lifted the hem of the dress and stuck out her bare foot. Iavas laughed and pointed to the floor at the side of the bed, where a pair of simple suede slippers sat side by side, waiting for her. She waited until the slippers - surprisingly warm - were in place before tapping Meg on the shoulder and miming brushing her hair.

Meg bent to the pile of belongings at the base of the wardrobe and pulled out her hairbrush to hand it to Iavas, who examined the clear blue plastic handle closely for a moment and then gestured for Meg to follow her into the sitting room. She pulled one of the little stools over in front of the fire and gestured for Meg to sit down with her back to the flames. With that, she fanned Meg's hair out over her shoulders and back and began a slow brushing that was almost hypnotic.

The sound of the tolling bell lingered on the very edges of her consciousness, but the knock at the door when the fifth chime had died away brought her back. Iavas called out an answer and then lifted a finger to halt Meg's rise. With deft fingers, Iavas pulled a small section of hair back from either temple and seemed to weave it rapidly. In just a moment, she finally nodded and stepped back, gesturing that Meg should answer her door.

Wendell's whole face lit up when he saw Meg. "Well now, _this_ is a treat! I take it the gown Norwen found for you fit?"

Meg put out her arms and twirled for him, enjoying the way the heavy skirt flared. "What do you think?"

"I think the attire suits you very well, _hiril_ Meg, and I am most honored to be your escort for the evening's events." His voice was back down in that lower register again, and the shine in his eyes made her blush. He captured her hand and brought the back of it to his lips before settling it into the crook of his elbow. "There will be dancing this evening in the Hall of Fire; perhaps I might interest you in trying?"

"We'll see," she replied, his old-fashioned gallantry knocking her off-balance for a moment. Her heart was beating just a little faster than normal, and she knew that her face was flushed. What _was_ it about this man that affected her so?

Yes, she would dance with him, she decided quickly. She would try almost anything he would tempt her with, if reasonable. She had less than eight days to make the most of her time with him, and she wasn't going to waste a single moment of that time in worrying about whether she would be able to be as graceful or witty as the others around her.


	7. The Truth

Chapter 7 - The Truth

The days flew. Mornings were spent in the library, learning more words and the graceful written letters called _tengwar_, teaching Wendell the intricacies and oddities of written English, looking through books, pointing at pictures and hearing some of the most amazing stories. Lunch at midday, if weather permitted, was in the garden with Wendell and Lord Celeborn, and inevitably concluded with a lengthy question and answer session regarding the world beyond the ravine.

Meg didn't necessarily enjoy those interrogations; for the questions - indeed the very way the questions were worded - made it difficult for her to state anything but the absolute truth of a matter. More times than not, her answers were slow and apologetic, for Imladris, it seemed, espoused an ideal that most would find unrealistic. What form of power made the vehicles like those she flew in, where was it found? What kings and leaders of Men now ruled, and were their actions honorable towards other leaders as well as the people in their keeping? Were the forests and animals that dwelled there healthy and protected from over-predation?

She finally relented and brought down her computer once, deciding that some of the questions had answers that could be met by showing some of the many photographs she had taken during her time in Great Britain - both when Gene was still alive and this trip. After another lengthy discussion of the relative good or evil of such a contraption, Lord Celeborn and Wendell spent a great deal of time that day looking at images of places very far away from this simple estate and listening to her speak of them and the other things she'd seen there.

Her afternoons were spent watching the craftsmen of the settlement do their work and, at times, attempting to give a basic task a try. She found that, with a little practice, she could sew a straight seam; although Norwen announced through Wendell that her stitches could be more regular in size. She donned her jeans and flannel shirts to help exercise the horses, although her unfamiliarity with riding without tack meant that she spend more time with lunge lines than on horseback. She watched the smith craft new hinges for an interior door to an added room on one of the tenant houses; and watched with bated breath and wide eyes as their glassblower made new goblets to replace some that had evidently broken before she'd arrived.

Evenings were spent in the Hall of Fire, after a meal of whatever meat Norwen was given to work with, some vegetables, bread, watered wine, and fruits and nuts. The fare was simple but filling; and the music and laughter that followed never failed to send her to her bed with snatches of song still ringing in her ears. The dances were like nothing she'd ever seen before: men lifting the women high into the air and swinging around each other with an abandon and glee that was contagious. The first time Wendell swung her up into the air with surprisingly strong arms, she squealed; but quickly learned to enjoy those moments of time suspended with only Wendell in her gaze.

He filled her days and evenings with information, new words and ideas, laughter, and always a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face. He did not press her for more details about her home or the situation she would be returning to; and nothing that he did made her question his abilities or his sanity. He was charming, he was funny, he was everything that her brother used to be for her and so much more; from time to time, his voice would strive for that lower range, and he would speak softly of possibilities that Meg so wanted to wish for but wasn't ready to believe in.

The day before she had to leave dawned warmer, as if autumn stepped aside and let summer give the world one last pleasant day before the chill would move in for good. Meg rose late that morning, and begged an apple and some water from Norwen by way of a breakfast before heading to the library and her morning with Wendell. Warm though the day was, she was anything but warm on the inside every time the thought of having to leave this place rose in her mind. She still didn't know what she was going to do - or how to explain it to Wendell.

He was waiting for her in the library, as always, but today the table wasn't stacked with papers, books and scrolls. He rose, captured her hand and kissed the back of it, as he had taken to doing, then tucked it into his elbow and walked back with her toward the door. "As this is your last full day with us, I intend to monopolize your time," he announced as he pulled her down a new corridor and then out into a garden Meg had never seen before.

"I don't want to think of that right now," she replied, looking around entranced at the display of flowers still blooming. "This is beautiful!"

"I know you do not want to think of it, but we have very little time left, and I have many things to tell you: things I promised I would tell you before your time with us was up, Things I cannot put off telling you any longer, things that will seem… difficult to believe."

His words chilled her even more than the thought of leaving had, and his voice was anything but bubbly and laughing. "You're beginning to frighten me," she told him truthfully.

"I know. I hope that you have found your time here relaxing and peaceful, perhaps even interesting…"

Meg let him draw her down to a stone bench set back into a vine-covered alcove. "You know I have, Wendell. Imladris is… a very special place." Tears welled that she fought against. "It will be very difficult to leave it."

"I do not wish you to go."

He'd made that very plain before, and his actions the entire week had done nothing but reinforce that desire. "I know, but…"

"Exactly… there is always a 'but.' You need to know some things — the full truth — about Imladris, about Celeborn and his people, and about me. We…" He stopped and coughed. "This isn't going to be as easy as I had thought," he muttered to himself.

"Wendell." Meg chafed his hand between both of hers. "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the hospitality and the friendship I have found here. After all that has happened, you've given me hope that the world won't be quite as dark a place as I had…"

"Stop! Please!" He pulled his hand loose of hers and pressed fingers to her lips to forestall her from speaking. "I… do not wish to be just a… Meg, do not leave me!"

The urgency in his voice pulled at her heart. "Why?" she asked simply, not really sure what she wanted to hear him say.

"I have told you I have been alone here, in this place, for a very long time - alone but not solitary, remember?"

She nodded. It had been an odd turn of phrase, but she thought she understood it.

"As we have spent our time together these last few days, I have pondered many things. And I think I know why you were allowed to find us." His smile widened with an almost frantic hopefulness. "You came here not only to help soothe your grief and find a way to keep living, but to give me a reason to continue as well. I… we all here… had been on the edge of simply fading away."

Meg's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Wendell carefully and with great deliberation took her hands in his. "I told you we have been here a long time, did I not?"

"You know you did."

"I didn't mean merely a few years - or even a few decades, Meg." He gazed at her intently. "All of us here are much older than you might think."

She looked at him sideways. "What do you mean?"

"When I spoke of our having been around for Ages, I was telling you the truth."

"What do you mean by 'Ages' then? It's just a generalized term…"

Wendell shook his head. "Not for us. This is the sixth Age, by our reckoning, with each spanning between two to three thousand years. I personally…"

"Are you trying to tell me," Meg began, her voice clearly speaking her skepticism, "that you are thousands…"

"Yes." He nodded slowly and gazed intently into her eyes. "All of us here are…"

She began shaking her head. "It can't be. You all look…"

"Meg." He tugged at her hands to get her attention again. "Looks are deceiving. Celeborn and his people are known as _Eldar_. Your world still knows them, somewhat, as elves - REAL elves, and not the little ones who play tricks or build toys for holidays. Their very lives are tied to the world - for as long as it prevails, so do they."

"No…" She frowned now. "Now you _are_ lying."

"I swear to you, I do not lie in this. Have you not told me many times over how you wondered about some of the things you saw that spoke of the age of this place?"

"Yes, but…"

"Your observations were correct. Imladris is ancient, by your measure of time: many thousands of years old, to be exact, built by Lord Celeborn's son-in-law as a stronghold and refuge against the darkness. The _Eldar_ have been here continually for its entire life, although Celeborn arrived here a mere four or five thousand ago."

Meg screwed her eyes tight and shook her head. No, she didn't want to hear this craziness. She wanted to hear that the reason he didn't want her to leave was because he loved her as much as she loved him! And that thought was almost enough to make her freeze in her track. What had she done? She was in love with a mad man!

"And I, I am what is known as Istar - a wizard. You asked how I did what I did to make the rangers not see us, did you not, and did I not tell that _that_ is what I do?"

Frightened and provoked beyond her ability to control her temper, she spat, "There are no such things as wizards; every child of ten knows this."

Wendell looked at where their hands meshed for a long and silent moment. "Forgive me, but I see no other way to show you that I tell you the truth." He closed his eyes, and Meg began to blink when he began to… grow. He let go of her and rose, and she stared as his face became beardless, ageless, and his form almost nebulous. Gone was the homespun robe, the dancing brown eyes and well-trimmed beard; in it's place was a being beyond description, with a voice sweeter than any she'd ever heard. "I am Istar, Meg, known on Valinor as Maia. I have known this world since before it took it's final form. I was here when the Creator sang the song that brought the world into being."

Meg stared and slowly pulled her hands in to wrap them around herself. "W…what…" She began to shake as she tried to make sense of what her eyes were telling her. "This isn't real - it isn't happening. It _can't_ be!"

Slowly Wendell shrank in on himself; his garb returned from what it had been to the familiar, rough homespun, his beard returned, and he sat back down next to her again as he had so many times before. "It can be, but only here. Imladris and those who live here are all that is left of a world long gone, Meg, held here only by our love of the world and its many growing things until there was little hope for travel west any longer. I protect this place, because it doesn't belong in this world."

"There is _nothing_ west of here but the Americas," Meg insisted, despite her real impulse to flee this garden and her friend who had suddenly shown himself to be a great deal more than mere man.

"No, now there isn't. The Valar - you would call them gods or angels, I imagine - removed Valinor from your world long ago, and for a while, a Straight Road remained for the _Eldar_ to follow when they tired of this place. But even that could not last forever, lest Men and their desires for things the _Eldar_ were given by their Creator find them and ruin that place as they have this one."

Meg pressed her hands against her ears. "This is a story - a fairytale."

"This is our history," Wendell countered, very gently prying her ears free again.

Meg withdrew herself from his hold and stood up to back away. "I don't believe you. I don't know what you are… but…" She stared at him, utterly confused and not knowing what to believe. "You're a magician, _that's_ what you are. Magicians do slight of hand and other things to make people believe they are seeing things that…" She swallowed hard. "…aren't really there."

"Is that what you truly think?" he asked her, his eyes sad.

Finally the tears began. "I don't know what to think," she admitted.

"Whatever else you might think - of me, of this place, of Celeborn and his people - know this: I have fallen in love with you, Meg Litten. The Valar, in their mercy, have shown to me what it means to wish to be one part of a greater whole; to seek the happiness and wellbeing of another beyond one's own personal needs. From the little you have told me, I know you have no great love of your world - you have few, if any friends, no real drive to achieve something great. Your family has all stepped outside the circles of the world, and so you are alone. But you need not be solitary either, anymore than I am."

He extended his hand, but Meg retreated another step from him. "Remain here, in Imladris. Your fate will be a mystery, no doubt, to those in the world of Men who think to wonder about you; but here you would have love, and beauty, and companionship. I offer you a life, in exchange for a mere existence."

"I…"

"I _love_ you, Meg; and I have reason to believe that you may have feelings as well…"

"I don't know what I feel… what I think… anymore." Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. He looked so normal, so… familiar… and yet, just moments before… "I have to go… I need time to think…"

"Meg, please…"

"Let me go!" she cried before he could take more than a step closer to her again. "Just… Leave me alone." She turned on her heel and ran back into the house as fast as her feet would carry her.

oOoOo

It wasn't fair! Meg paced back and forth in front of her hearth, glaring out the window at the sunlight. She had wanted to enjoy the day and the company of her wonderful Wendell… She growled and twisted away from the cruelly warm light of the sun, her arms wrapped around herself. Since when had she begun to think of Wendell as _hers_?

_About the time I fell in love with him_, she thought bitterly. And she had - hook, line, and sinker - until he started telling wild and improbable stories about his being thousands of years old and Celeborn, who barely looked to be in his thirty's, being almost as old. _But he did… what he did… what _did_ he do?_

Try as she would, she could only barely remember the… monster… that had been Wendell. _It had to have been an optical illusion - smoke and mirrors - something that I could probably easily understand if I knew the mechanics of it._ But what continued to stump her was _why_ he had felt it necessary to try to hoodwink her like that? Until he had started telling her fantasies and expecting her to believe them, she had actually wondered about staying. Now…

_Now you're stuck for an entire day by yourself in here, because Wendell is the only one you can actually talk to._ No matter that she and Norwen seemed to get along well, and she had greeted Iavas several times when she'd seen her going about her many tasks, she still could only barely say "hello" to them before her knowledge of Sindarin had run dry.

The last thing she either expected or wanted was the knock on the door. _If that's Wendell, I'm going to tell him what I _really_ think of his scaring the bejeezus out of me!_ "I told you to…" she began and jerked the door open, only to have her jaw snap shut at the sight of Lord Celeborn - with no Wendell in attendance for translation. "Um… _Goheno nîn, hir Celeborn._"

The silver head dipped graciously, and he gestured inward into her room. "I… can?"

Meg stared for a long moment before backing away and gesturing him in. "Of course!" she said, her face slowly folding into confusion. "You speak English now?"

He held up a restraining hand. "Mmmmm… Radagast… tell… I… words some."

She gestured for him to have a seat. "Your English is better than my Sindarin…"

He held up an elegant forefinger this time, and his jaw worked for a long moment. "Mmmmmm… I… come… help. Radagast… tell… I… you… fear… we?"

"Radagast?" The name was familiar, but…

"Mmmm…. You… say… Wen… Aiwendil. Aiwendil… Radagast..." He held out both hands and mimicked a scales coming to an equal balance. His grey eyes gazed hopefully at her.

That was right! Wendell had told her that he had another name in what he had called the "Grey" tongue. Was that Sindarin? She nodded, indicating she understood now.

"Radagast… tell… I… you… fear… we?"

Meg could see he was trying very hard to make himself understood, and to offer his help to her. _Was_ she afraid of him, of Norwen, of Iavas? "No," she answered slowly and shook her head for emphasis. "I don't fear you."

"You… fear… Aiwendil?"

That was an easier question to answer. "Yes." She nodded to add gesture to the word to aid understanding.

Celeborn nodded and held up his finger again while he formulated his thoughts in what Meg knew must have been to him a completely foreign language. "Radagast Maia… Istar. This… you… he tell?"

Her eyebrows rose, both in surprise and consternation. He knew the odd words Wendell had used to describe himself? "Yes," she answered, but pulled the word out to let him know that she wasn't convinced.

"Radagast… love… you. This… you… he tell?"

And now she blinked. Had Wendell discussed his feelings for her with Lord Celeborn, that he would know this? "Yes," she answered again, again elongating the word to show her skepticism.

Celeborn's face folded into frustration. "You… Imladris?" he asked, and then made a quick, downward gesture. "Imladris," he repeated with certainty, again with his quick, forceful movement.

Meg frowned, but couldn't guess at what he was trying to get across. "_Goheno nîn,_" she said sadly, grateful that she knew at least that much Sindarin.

"Mmmmm!" Celeborn hummed his irritation and frowned again, his finger held up for a long moment. Then he brightened and rose to his feet. "You… not come…" and he finished with an equally forceful thrust of the hands outwards, then adding, "you… Imladris?" and he once more repeated his forceful push to the floor, adding a stomp of his foot.

_Is he asking me if I'm staying in Imladris? _She spread her hands out and shook her head, her eyes wide. "I'm not sure."

"Meg?" The direct address drew her eyes to him like arrows to a target and found his gaze penetrating. "You… love… Radagast?"

That was the question, wasn't it? _Did_ she love him - and if so, did she love him enough to walk away from everything she'd ever known and join him here, in this place that he protected from the rest of the world? _Am I starting to believe his nonsense?_ Still, the question hurt, and drew tears to swim without falling. "I don't know," she answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders and throwing her hands out in despair. "He said you are _Eldar,_ and older than the hills around here."

Celeborn's eyes brightened at the familiar word. "_Ma,_" he answered with a nod. "_Im Edhel_." With a finger, he lifted his hair away from his head, and Meg saw for the first time the way his ear came to a very delicate point. Her jaw dropped open a little, and Celeborn's mouth worked as he thought again. "Mmmm… You… fear… _Eldar_?"

Her eyes flitted to his, and Meg knew instantly that he would be able to see that she did, in fact, feel less than secure now. And yet, his face folded into an expression of compassion that, were circumstances different, would have had her running to him for comfort. She hadn't seen that particular look on anyone's face since her father died. "You… tell… Radagast," he said gently. When she indicated she didn't understand, he lifted a hand and worked it like a puppet's mouth. "Tell Radagast."

_You need to talk to Wendell, he's telling you. He's right. _Nothing was going to be resolved with her hiding in her suite until her time ran out. And if Wendell didn't take her back to the village in the morning, who would? Haldir? Meg shivered at the thought of being in _that_ man's tender care. With a look of reluctance, she nodded her head. "_Ma_," she agreed in defeat.

"Meg." Celeborn stepped closer to her. "Radagast… love… you." He very gently tapped her forehead with his forefinger. "You. Not… come…?" and again the outward gesture. _Don't leave?_

She sighed. "_Hir Celeborn_…"

"Shhh…" he smiled at her. "I… come… you… Radagast. You… tell."

"_Ma_." She might as well talk to Wendell. It was obvious Celeborn was going to insist on it.

"_Mae_." The Lord captured her hand, settled it in the crook of his elbow, and pressed his other hand to hold hers in place. "_Mae_."

_We'll see_, she thought as he escorted her from her rooms and down the corridor in the direction of the library. _We'll just see._


	8. What To Do?

Chapter 8 - What To Do?

Wendell wasn't seated at his table, but stood at the side of one of the huge windows, looking out through the warped glass with a desolate expression. Meg flinched as he turned at their moment and caught sight of her, for the sadness and defeat in him was hard to take. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned. "_Hiril nîn,_" he said softly and then bowed to Celeborn. "_Hir nîn._"

Celeborn led her all the way to Wendell's side, and then deliberately transferred her hand into Wendell's keeping. "You… tell… Radagast," he reminded her with a gentle smile and cupped her face with his hand. Then he spoke gently and quickly to Wendell before giving a bow with his hand to his heart and turning away.

Neither of them moved until Celeborn had vanished through the library door, and then Wendell released his hold so that Meg could reclaim her freedom from him. "You didn't tell me you were teaching him English," she commented quietly.

"He asked me to teach him the day I brought you back from the village after you left off your mare. I had no idea he would attempt to speak to you privately so soon. I should have told you. I am sorry for that." He turned back to his window.

"He wants me to talk to you," Meg said, moving to the other side of the window. "You told him how you felt?"

"The subject arose," Wendell allowed. "The _Eldar_ are naturally curious creatures; and, according to Celeborn, I was rather obvious in my interest." He trailed a forefinger over the rippled glass. "If in doing so, I have embarrassed you, I am most sorry."

"It didn't embarrass me; it merely surprised me." She found herself tempted to follow his example and run her finger over the distorted glass pane. "He may not have a big vocabulary, but he certainly has the ability to use it well for only having studied for what - seven days?"

"He is not known among the _Eldar_ as Celeborn the Wise without good reason."

She gave into the temptation. "He asked me if I loved you."

The quick jerk of his head told her that she had surprised him, but he quickly resumed his defeated slouch. "He should not have. I am sor…"

"Stop apologizing. Please."

He turned to gaze at her. "It is all I know how to do, _hiril nîn_. I have frightened you - convinced you that I am a magical charlatan at best, at worst a raving mad man - and now discover that my comrade asked you very personal questions. And right now I'd imagine that all you are hoping for is that you may bide your time unmolested until the hour comes when you be taken back to the village so you may return to your life in American."

"America," she corrected without thinking, "and I think Lord Celeborn asked me not to leave."

Wendell's shoulders hunched. "He is aware of my feelings in the matter; and I once told you that he would give me whatever I wanted, were it in his power to give it."

Meg played with the window again. "He showed me his ear," she said eventually.

"Did he?"

"I made mention that you had told me about the _Eldar_, and he confirmed that that was what he was and showed it to me."

He nodded and grunted, as if not knowing how to comment on this development. She waited, but he obviously wasn't going to take the lead in conversation at all.

"What you did…" she began, trying to put her thoughts into words, "what you showed me,"

"I should never have done it," Wendell sighed. "I could see I had pushed you too far the moment I started to set aside the _fana_ I have worn for so long. Olórin once told me that he frightened his Hobbit friends quite badly doing something similar once, and _they_ already _knew_ he was a wizard." He leaned his head against the cool glass even as he looked at her again. "I merely wished so much to show you that what I was telling you was no fantasy, no story to frighten little children at bedtime. And instead…"

"Is… that… what you _really_ are?" Meg asked, afraid of the answer.

"I am as you see before you, but I_ can_ be that, if the need arises. I have not shed this form in many, many long-years - since long before I came to dwell in Imladris, I dare say."

"And when you said you made the eyes 'slide over us'…"

"I put us inside a… a bubble, if you will, that folds the surrounding scenery over what I wish to hide in a logical manner. If given enough time to prepare, it can even prevent sound from escaping, but that day…" He sighed. "Hard to believe, I realize…"

"If I hadn't seen it happen, it would be," she reminded him quickly. "But I _saw_ them look right at us and not see us, so _something_ you did, worked." Her finger worried a tiny pit in the glass near her nose. "Why me, Wendell?"

That made him straighten and look over at her, distressed. "What do you mean?"

Meg concentrated on the sensations under her finger so she didn't have to look at him. "If you are so old, and so powerful, why me? Why not…" She shrugged and then waved her hand around. "…one of Celeborn's people, or the people who were here before, or someone in your home on… whatever that place was called…"

"Valinor."

"Yeah. Valinor. Surely there had to be someone _there_ - someone like you, whatever you are…"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shaking his head. "In all that time, and in all the places I have walked, I had not found one who caught at my heart - until now. I did not choose to remain alone all this time, I assure you. Finding you has been a very… unsettling… experience - but one that I will treasure until the unmaking of the world."

He was answering every question she had for him, and doing so in a kind and gentle tone and manner; and given how much she had already seen, she was a little more open to entertaining the notion that perhaps he _wasn't_ pulling her leg after all. And her heart was crying out for her to go to him, no matter what he said. _I _have_ fallen in love with him. But is it enough?_

She didn't want to cry, she _didn't_; but tears began slow tracks down her cheeks. "Wendell, I have a life out there…" She gestured awkwardly toward the space beyond the window.

"Is that what you call it? I call it being alone, but not solitary," Wendell said very softly. "I know how it is to walk among those who have lives and relationships and yet feel apart from all that they are or do. And I feel that is what you have been doing, and that it is a cold path that you would be returning to. You told me that all of your family, save a brother's wife and child, are gone now; and this brother's wife left you alone in your grief to return to _her_ family - which is not yours. How long can you exist this way without fading yourself?"

"And I would have more here; is that what you're telling me?" she challenged him without any fire.

"That is exactly what I am telling you," he returned firmly. "Here you would have those who genuinely would be interested in you, in your life, in your stories; people who would be willing to teach you whatever you wished to learn so that you could spend your days with a purpose that fits the person you are. And I swear to you, you would have love here, as much as I could give to you. You would _not_ be alone anymore." He took a step toward her. "You would have a life, Meg, rather than just a mere existence."

"What about my responsibilities? I have an employer that I promised that I would give two week's written notice before I could leave. I have my apartment, and my things, that someone would be forced to go through and dispose of if I didn't do it…"

"Meg, I don't know if Imladris will allow you to find it again, should you leave," Wendell told her sadly. "You are here because, I think, _you_ need this place, and _I know I_ need _you_. If you choose to leave, however, it is possible that your choice will be seen as a decision not to accept the offer made to you - and you will never again find the proper path down the ravine to the bridge. You, like the all others in your world, will have your eyes slide away from what you would need to see to return. And now that I know to fold the bubble of my protection over the top of Imladris as well, you will not find us by air again either."

_Never find Imladris again? _The very thought was like ice water in the face. "But you could watch for me? Wait for me… If you knew I would return…" She searched his face frantically, looking for reassurance.

"But watch and wait for how long? Winter comes very quickly here; in but a few weeks, the entire place will be covered in snow and ice, and the park will close until the Spring. The path in and out of Imladris is not safe in winter." He shook his head and took another step, not hiding his approach, but not drawing attention to it either.

"Is there anything back in your world that you would miss so greatly if it remained behind? Your employer, no doubt, is like so many others I have known of your kind down the Ages: his interest in you will only last as long as you continue to help him make gold for his purse. Were you to not return in the specified time, he would have no problem whatsoever promoting another into your position and forgetting you ever existed. The same would apply to the one who owns the building you rent a room from: your import to him would end when the promise of gold evaporates. Were you not to return, he would have no problem removing your personal belongings to either be sold or thrown to the midden pile in order that the room be free to rent to another."

The next step he took brought him close enough to touch her, and yet he refrained. "Stay, Meg. _Stay with me_. Do not run the risk of never being allowed to return. Look into your heart and find the strength to turn away from an empty life."

The proximity of his voice drew her gaze back to him, and finally he reached out a warm hand to finger away the tears and then cup her face. "I look at you and see our future - and it can be a bright one. I _love_ you, Meg; I will never love another."

"I love you too, Wendell," she confessed finally in a very small voice, "or, at least, I _think_ I do. But this is asking a lot, on only a very little time together."

"Then stay for now; and when the paths open in Spring, you will know your true decision." He stepped just a bit closer, and framed her face between his hands. "By then, you will speak Sindarin, and Lord Celeborn at least will be able to speak a little better English; and you will hopefully have found something that will have made you feel your time has been used wisely. If you decide to leave at that time, I will not stop you; I will see you given enough gold that you can re-establish yourself in your world without feeling any want at all."

He finally closed the space between them. "But if you are happy here, then all will be well. Would Springtime be enough time for you to know your mind and your heart?"

"Do you promise that if I've decided to leave, you won't try to stop me or talk me out of it again?" she shot back.

"I give you my solemn vow: if you decide, when the snows clear, that you wish to return to the world of Men, I will place no obstacle in your path. I will see you safely back to the village and supplied with enough gold that you will not want for anything while you re-establish a life for yourself in the outer world again." His hand pulled away from her face, leaving her missing its warmth, to press over his heart. "So say I, Aiwendil, Maia in the service of Yavanna and Celeborn the Wise."

Meg nodded, a little amazed at the very formal vow. No doubt, to these people, making a promise was serious business; and Wendell didn't strike her as the kind of person who would break a promise made with such serious intent. She took a deep breath. "I would like some time to think about my answer. As I said, you're asking a lot of me - even to ask me to give up a good job and all of my things just to stay until Springtime - and I want to make sure that I make the right choice."

Wendell's face grew long, and he withdrew his other hand from her and stepped back. "As you wish. But your time here, as you explained it, is grown short. If I am to take you to the village in time for you to meet all your obligations out there, I must do so no later than tomorrow."

She wanted him to hold her face again. No, she wanted him to put his arms around her and convince her quickly. No, she needed to think this through… _I can't think clearly when he's around!_ "I'm going to go walk in the garden for a while and try to make some sense of things," she told him finally. "Will you be here when I'm ready with my answer?"

He gazed at her longingly, and finally nodded. "I have duties I need to perform that I have been neglecting of late; but I will be here after the midday meal, when you bring me your reply. Will that suffice?"

"Yes."

She took a step backwards and would have turned to leave the library, but Wendell suddenly stepped forward and caught her upper arms in his hands. "If you must think things through to make sense of them, then it is only right that you know all. My love for you is not merely words, Meg. You need to know…" A hand cupped her face again, and then he leaned close and pressed his lips to hers.

His kiss was sweet, and gentle, regardless the frantic way he clutched at her to hold her close. Drawn to him in spite of everything, she let her hand find his waist, and then curl up his back a little, holding him in return. As she did, she felt his hand at her upper arm ease and then slide to her back, and the hand that had cupped her cheek shifted to cradle her entire skull; and finally he had her drawn completely to him.

The kiss was short, and Meg wasn't certain whether she was merely surprised or genuinely disappointed that Wendell hadn't tried to deepen it. All she knew was that his arms were warm, comfortable, and strong, and his tender regard for her was more than obvious. Most of all, she really didn't want his embrace to fall away - although it quickly did. He cupped her face again as he backed away. "I ask you, I beg you, to choose for that which I offer you when your meditations are done, or at least to give me until Spring to help you settle your mind. But go now - quickly - for my instincts tell me to hold you fast and close; and I would rather you in my arms willingly."

His hand fell away, and he very deliberately turned away from her to head off toward one of the towering bookcases. Meg lingered halfway out the library door, her fingers at her lips as she remembered his kiss, and then she forced herself to turn away as well. The garden awaited - as did the battle between her head and heart.

oOoOo

_If I leave, I might never be able to come back again._ Could she live without being able to see Wendell again, without ever being able to take the time to find out if she loved him enough to leave an entire life behind? If she decided to return, only to have whatever protection Wendell wielded about Imladris prevent her from ever finding it again, she knew she would be beyond distraught.

_If I stay, even if only until Springtime, I will lose everything I've ever worked for._ Her job, her reputation as a competent, responsible legal secretary, her apartment and the mementos of her parents, her brother… All of it would be gone if she did not leave tomorrow as planned, if she did not step aboard that jumbo jet and fly back to a place where it rarely, if ever, snowed; a place where she might not be happy, but she wasn't destitute.

_Oh! What do I want?!_

Meg wrapped her arms about herself and paced back and forth between the fountain in the corner and the stone bench set into the grass. Her stomach rumbled, telling her that it had passed the midday meal quite a while ago, but she paid it no mind.

She had worked a very long time to learn her profession, honing her skills with a number of smaller jobs before she'd finally been tried and accepted as her father's law partner's secretary. And had she remained at that place, even though both her father and later his partner had slowly backed away from their practice and left the work for younger partners, she might have been more content. These were people she'd known all her life: acquaintances rather than friends, but with possibilities.

But no. Her parents' deaths, one followed only months by the other, had made remaining where too much reminded her of them far too painful. She had taken the glowing recommendation of her previous boss to Los Angeles - a place so very different from her hometown - and managed to secure employment again. The job paid well, but Mr. Bryant was an arrogant and presumptive man, difficult to please in the best of situations - and a lecher as well. She'd become quite adept at dodging hands reaching out inappropriately; and although she knew she could report him to the state bar association for harassment, doing so would mean sacrificing her reputation with other attorneys.

Her apartment was small, but the furnishings were either expensive, quality pieces or things she had taken from her parents' home before everything else went on the auction block. Pictures of her with them as a child, pictures of her with Gene as children, an album of pictures from family vacations - all of these decorated her home and gave her a sense of belonging, even in a place where she felt perpetually a stranger the moment she left her own front door. If she wasn't working, she was home, hiding among the mementos of a past that could not be reclaimed.

Wendell was right: it wasn't a Life, it was mere Existence. But it was something that was familiar, something she knew the rules for and the limits to which she could go. Given enough time, she knew she'd find a better position somehow…

And yet…

Meg sank down on the stone bench, gazing around her at the beauty of a garden even in the fading days of autumn. Quiet and peace reigned supreme in every corner; and even in the disarray of the falling, golden leaves from the sentinel trees that scattered everywhere and danced with every stray breeze, a sense of grace and as-things-were-meant-to-be could be easily discerned. The maintenance of both the estate of Imladris and of the people who lived there offered quite a number of crafts and tasks that she could learn in order to become productive, an asset. They were older crafts, things now done in the outer world - when had she started to adopt _their_ way of thinking of her own world? - as hobbies or oddities, but here quite essential or desirable.

If she stayed, the technology she had brought with her would slowly die; and her camera, her computer, would become useless as their batteries were drained. Could she live without electricity? Could she learn to speak Sindarin well enough - and read it well enough - that she would be able to use the library for entertainment in her solitary hours? Of course, if she were with Wendell, her hours wouldn't be quite so solitary, would they?

Oh, she didn't want to think of Wendell, but once her mind had moved past all the external arguments pro and con, his face was all that was left before her to consider. _Did_ she want to leave him, knowing that the chances were that if she changed her mind at a later date and desired to return, she probably wouldn't be able to find her way back? _Did_ she want to risk everything in the outer world to give herself more time in _this_ world to make her decision?

_Do I trust myself enough to make the right decision, for a change?_ Yes, _that_ was the central issue - not job and home versus love and companionship, but rather whether or not she could trust herself not to screw up again and land herself in a situation worse than what she had in Los Angeles?

Wendell loved her, of this she was certain. And despite her indecision otherwise, she was certain that the rush of attraction she felt for him now could easily mature into a deep and abiding love that could easily rival what her parents had shared. She so wanted that kind of love! _Is this my chance?_ Riddled with confusion and insecurity, she wrapped her arms around herself again and studied the dainty flowers embroidered on her silken skirt.

Whatever choice she made, it would need a leap of faith on her part: faith in Wendell, or faith that her options were better out in a world that she understood. No, it would take a leap of faith in _herself_ to make the right choice.

_I don't know what to do!!_

She wept for a long moment, and then looked up and around herself with determination giving starch to her spine. Dashing the tears from her cheeks with an impatient back of the hand, she berated herself. _You can do this, Litten. Think it through._ She looked around again, and not only at the garden this time, but at the dark opening of a doorway that led into Imladris - that led back to Wendell. _Do I want to leave?_

Quietly, after a long moment of merely listening and looking, she had to admit to herself that she found Imladris a very comfortable place. Did she want to leave it? _No._

Finally she had a grip on something she could _know_: she didn't _want_ to leave. _Which risk is too big to take: of leaving and never being able to get back, or staying and not being able to find myself again out there if it doesn't work out?_ But Wendell had promised that she would be provided with enough gold to take that last worry away, hadn't he? And from the looks of Imladris, it had never known want or lack of wealth; the gown that had been given her on the rainy day would have been truly luxurious even just two centuries ago. So…

_Which risk is too big to take?_

If she stayed, she could always return to the outer world, with or without Wendell's help or gold, whenever she chose. She had marketable skills; she could eventually find her way and build a new life. Now: which _life_ did she want - a life with Wendell loving her, or a life of her own.

_A cold, empty life, now that Gene is gone - alone but not solitary - or Wendell and Lord Celeborn and Norwen and Iavas?_

She threw her head back and closed her eyes. Was it really that much of a choice? The possibility of everything she'd ever wanted out of life, or a career? Wendell or Mr. Bryant? Meg snorted, then sighed and opened her eyes again; that last one wasn't even a legitimate question.

_I want Wendell, don't I?_

Yes, she did. She closed her eyes and revisited that very sweet, very simple kiss. He hadn't pushed, hadn't pressed, hadn't asked for more than was proper at the time. But he had made his case more eloquently in that one little kiss than with all the words he'd given her before then.

_I want to stay - at least until Springtime. We will decide on a day, and I will make my final choice then._

Her stomach rumbled again, more insistently this time, and Meg rose. It was time to eat, and then time to find Wendell. No, he needed to know of her decision. Food could wait.

He was sitting at the table where she had left him, books and scrolls and papers scattered about him as was his wont when he was working for Lord Celeborn. Meg moved to stand directly in front of him, with the table between them, her hands demurely clasped in front of her, and then raised her head to look at him. And then she smiled.

A face that had gone pale and still at her entrance filled with color and life, and brown eyes twinkled merrily as he rose quickly to his feet. "At least until Spring?" he asked breathlessly, obviously forcing himself to hold back until he'd heard everything there was to hear.

"At least until Spring," she repeated with a shallow nod.

This time, when his lips met hers, she was left with no illusions whatsoever as to the depths of his feelings for her, and of the elation that he felt at her choice.


	9. Decisions

Chapter 9 - Decisions

There was still snow on the ground in the garden, but Alargon's announcement that the trees were finally beginning to bud had been received by all in the dining room with great joy. "Dancing, tonight, Lord Celeborn?" Norwen asked from the kitchen doorway.

Meg smiled. She enjoyed the evenings when the music was meant to be danced to. It was wild and free, melodic enough to have lyrics set to it but never more than instrumental, and quite invigorating. Of course, being partnered with Wendell was an equal joy, although Lord Celeborn and Rúmil never allowed the wizard to completely monopolize her time. Even Haldir had dropped his suspicions and wariness after the first heavy snowfall sealed the estate for the duration of the winter.

She also knew that by working together with Norwen, the tasks of cleaning up after a meal would go more quickly, so that they both would be able to enjoy the evening's diversion. Meg had requested that she be allowed to assist Norwen in the kitchen as her way of contributing to the wellbeing of the community there; not because she was a good cook, but because she had always wanted to learn to be one. Norwen had been one of her main tutors in Sindarin as well, giving Meg plenty of practice with the new words and ways of putting them together that Wendell insisted on continuing in the mornings, and she had proven a very good instructor in the art of cooking over an open fire or a fire-heated oven as well.

Lord Celeborn, on the other hand, had not ceased his English lessons either, and insisted on trying out his vocabulary on her during meals, even though it never failed to make Haldir roll his eyes and comment on how the need for such foolishness diminished as Meg became more fluent in Sindarin. Celeborn had also taken on the role of Meg's guardian, announcing through Wendell's translation that the time she would be spending until their designated day in Springtime would be considered as if a betrothal period. The silver-haired Elf then proceeded to make certain that, while there were plenty of opportunities for the two to be alone together, those opportunities did not lend themselves to unacceptable behavior very often.

But, as promised, the day designated as Meg's decision day was this day; the dance would celebrate the return of the sun, but Meg knew that Celeborn was also hoping that the dancing would celebrate her decision. Wendell, she knew, was nervous, despite the fact that he seemed quite collected on the surface. His hand sought hers now quietly, and she squeezed it gently in reassurance.

They had faced and discussed many issues together over the past months, including that of her mortality among a community of immortals. She had genuinely considered leaving at the end of her time, hoping to save Wendell from the grief of watching her die. But Lord Celeborn had taken her aside and carefully explained, in a combination of English and Sindarin, that no matter her decision, Wendell would grieve for her until the unmaking of the world. There was no way her early departure could protect him from that doom; but his grief could be balanced by the happiness they would share during their time together if she decided to remain.

That particular issue had been the most difficult one for her to face, for she had eventually realized that Wendell would remain the vibrant, healthy early middle-aged man he was long after she had followed the path of her kind, growing old before his eyes. There was a nook in one of the more private gardens that was more protected from the snow and the cold than the others that had seen her occupancy many times, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak to think and sometimes to weep.

However, as time had passed, and she had slowly begun to fit into the way life moved in Imladris, her feelings of ties to the world beyond the ravine had begun to fade. By now, Mr. Bryant had himself a new secretary to lust after, Mr. Figueroa would have long since emptied her apartment of all its belongings and rented it out again, and the world in general did not miss Meg Litten in the least. Maybe Sally and little Kevin would think of Auntie Meggie from time to time, maybe to wonder whatever happened to her; and then, maybe not.

Still, from the pressure of Wendell's hand in hers, she knew that he was reaching the end of his patience with her. He wanted to know; and she didn't blame him. She had only truly decided the evening before, when he had delivered her to the door of her suite and left her with more of the gentle kisses that made her ache. He had been so gallant, so mindful of the fact that they were merely courting. His hands had stayed in all the right places, even though she would have enjoyed feeling them elsewhere on her body; and because he was behaving himself, she felt constrained to do the same.

But she wanted him to touch her, and she wanted to feel as if it was permitted to touch him back. Their "betrothal" had been both a lesson in what she wanted from life itself and what she wanted from Wendell.

With another squeeze of the hand and a jerk of the head, she easily convinced him to leave the gathering of elves around the nascent bit of green at the end of a nearby twig and follow her into the house. There was an alcove that she had found, not far from the dining hall, that she sometimes enjoyed as a place to be alone with her thoughts. They would need that kind of privacy now.

She saw Celeborn follow their retreat with his eyes, and when their gazes met, he gave a very small bow. _He knows what we're going to be doing_. Then, smiling that small but quiet smile of his that always made Meg wonder if he knew what people were thinking before they did, he turned his attention back to the group around him.

"Meg, please!" she heard Wendell plead as she led him by the hand deeper into the house.

"Humor me?"

"I have done little else for months," he grumbled, but his tone disarmed it of any heat. "I have waited for your decision, and you have given me no hints as to your thoughts."

She pulled him into the alcove with a strong enough jerk that he stumbled slightly before he sat down on the bench there. Immediately, she sat down next to him. "I know, and I'm sorry I didn't say anything before; but I honestly didn't make up my mind until last night."

"You were not certain until then?" His mouth had dropped open. "Truly?"

"I knew it would be very easy to say 'yes' because you and Celeborn and everyone have done so much to make me feel a part of Imladris. And I knew if I wanted to be fair, I had to do more than just act impulsively." She gathered his hands into hers. "But I _have_ decided to stay - if you still will have me."

"If I would still have you," he grumbled, reaching out for her and pulling her close. "I have waited a long time to hear you say those words, and I would wait much, much longer if I knew that, at the end, you would be mine." He framed her face and gave her one of his delicate and gentle kisses. "And now you are." He kissed her again, a little more firmly. "Mine forever." And with that, his hand slipped to her neck as he leaned her into him, his arm pulling her closer into his body at the back and his kiss quickly deepened and made her heart begin to race.

"I take it that she has given you her decision, Radagast?"

Meg surfaced from his kisses with a blush, but Wendell merely chuckled. "You assume correctly, my Lord."

"Then this evening, the feast will be a celebration of your union as you claim your bride at last." Celeborn's smile was wide and pleased. "I will send Iavas to you this evening, Meg, and I do not wish for you to assist in the kitchens for the rest of the day…" His eyes began to twinkle like she had never seen before. "Maybe not even for several days thereafter."

Meg blushed even more deeply, and Wendell's chuckle vibrated through his entire body. "That is my wish as well, my Lord."

"Very well. I shall cease interrupting you." Celeborn's voice held traces of laughter. "Just remember to be at the feast tonight. There is the matter you and I discussed to handle before…"

Wendell nodded. "Yes. If you would arrange that for me?"

"It will be my honor. Please excuse me." And with that, Celeborn bowed to them and proceeded on his way, his delighted chuckle carrying back to them.

"Now, as you were saying before we were interrupted…" Meg said with a wicked twinkle in her own eye.

Wendell gazed at her. "I do not remember our speaking… Oh!" He smiled widely. "Yes, we should resume our discussion, should we not?"

"Oh yes!"

oOoOo

Meg brushed her hand down the bodice of the new gown that had magically appeared on her bed just before she'd returned from her bath, still not certain she could believe anything so beautiful could be hers. Through Iavas' chatter, she gathered that many of the seamstresses had been tasked to complete the garment at the order of Lord Celeborn, and that she had been told the gown was his gift to her on her wedding day.

The color of palest green, the silk draped gracefully down her arms, was caught by a tie anchored just below her breasts with a diamond of fabric decorated with many tiny gems forming a flower bud barely opening, and the multi-layered skirt fluttered as she took each step. Suede slippers of a matching color had been included, and Iavas had come up with ribbons of delicate white and dark green to weave into her hair. Meg knew that the bounty was as much an indication of Celeborn's appreciation for Wendell as it was for her, but she was touched by the generosity nonetheless.

"Good. You ready." Celeborn stood in the open door of her suite that Iavas had left behind her.

"Thank you for this," she told him in her best Sindarin, smoothing her hands down her skirt yet again.

"You make my friend very happy. I am… mmm… glad to give," he smiled at her and then offered his arm.

Meg smiled quietly. Celeborn could be quite formal - sometimes downright intimidating - but he had never been anything but gracious and paternal to her. "My Lord, in my lands, we have a tradition…"

"Yes?" His voice was eager; he always enjoyed it when Meg would give him tidbits about her people and their ways.

"When the woman enters the room where she will wed, she comes on the arm of her father. My father is… mmmm…" She cast through her Sindarin for the right phrase. "…has stepped beyond the circles of the world, so I wish you to take his place."

"You honor me." His voice had lowered, and had an odd roughness to it. "I will do this."

She squeezed his arm. "Thank you." She blinked back tears of gratitude.

They had come to the dining hall doorway, and Celeborn cleared his throat and brought the hum of voices within to a halt. "My people, today we not only celebrate the return of the sun and warmth to our lands, but the union of our great friend Radagast to the newest among us, the Lady Meg Litten."

As if as one, the entire dining hall rose as Celeborn escorted Meg to the front of the room, to stand before the raised platform that held the high table. He left her and made the step up, then turned. "Radagast, come forward to claim your bride."

Meg's eyes widened as Wendell stepped up next to her in robes that almost shone with a white brilliance. He claimed her hand to his arm and turned to face Celeborn.

Celeborn looked down at Meg and smiled, then addressed himself to Wendell. "Is it your wish to make this woman your mate, binding yourself to her alone unto the ending of the world?"

"It is."

He now looked at Meg. "Is it also your wish to make this man your mate, binding yourself to him alone unto the ending of the world?"

"Yes," she answered softly. This wasn't the same kind of wedding that she remembered, but it _felt_ right to her.

"Then it is my honor to declare before this company that Radagast and Meg shall be henceforth known as husband and wife." He looked down at them. "A kiss to seal the union is appropriate now."

Wendell smiled widely and turned to Meg, pulling her close to him and kissing her quite firmly and thoroughly. When they broke apart, a cheer rose from those who had witnessed the ceremony, and Meg blushed to the roots of her hair.

"And now," Celeborn announced, his arms wide, "we feast!"

_Wait!_

A feminine voice ran like a rich, crystal bell. Heads swiveled and then mouths fell open even as the Elves bowed and dropped into deep curtseys when a woman, taller than most present and garbed in a gown that glowed so brightly that it could hardly be seen, glided forward. Meg saw Celeborn's mouth sag, and then even he was stepping from his position of prominence and bowing deeply.

Next to her, Wendell bowed very deeply. "My Lady," he said in a tone of reverence that Meg had never heard before. Self-consciously, she dropped into a deep curtsey herself.

_My Servant, it delights me to see you this day, and it is my honor to join you in this celebration of your upcoming union with this Child of Eru. You have chosen well._ The Lady's voice echoed, and yet Meg suddenly realized she wasn't hearing the voice with her ears. This voice was in her head, inescapable, and yet delicate and gentle. She shuddered; she had thought she had seen everything when Wendell had shown his truer form, but nothing had prepared her for something like _this_.

"Thank you, my Lady," Wendell murmured softly. "I have been blest, after many long-years of loneliness."

_And yet, even as you celebrate this joy, you already sorrow for a parting that would come all too soon, is this not so?_

"She is of the Second-born, my Lady - a Mortal. My joy will be intense, but brief; but I would have it no other way."

_Say not so, my good and faithful Servant. For to you I bring a gift from the Blessed Lands, to ease your grief before it assails you._

Wendell looked up, startled. "My Lady?"

_Look up at me, Child of Eru._

Wide-eyed and thoroughly frightened, Meg slowly raised her gaze until she was looking into a face that was fairer than any she'd ever seen. Hair that one moment seemed to glow a deep gold and the next shimmer like silver silk framed the delicate face and fell to far below the waist.

_To you, Child, is given the choice to either relinquish your Gift to assume the burden and freedom the life of the Eldar would grant you, or to remain Mortal and step past the circles of the world when the days of your life are spent. Think you well on this, and choose wisely. For once you partake of the draught I have brought for you, your life essence will be irrevocably tied to the life of Arda; and any children you bear to Aiwendil will be similarly burdened with long life and ties to the life of the world._

Meg stared. "Do you mean, I won't grown old and die?" She turned to look at Wendell. "It was the only thing that I regret - that I would cause you so much hurt someday."

_You will age no further, and your body will be as it is now until the unmaking of the world. Choose._

"It would be a big change for you," Wendell cautioned, although the tremulous smile that tickled the corners of his mouth told the tale of his delight at the development. He turned suddenly and bent low. "My Lady, this is a boon unsought…"

_It is a gift, in gratitude for the long days of Service you have given to those who, despite all, remain behind; and for all the work you have done to preserve the beauty of this world. Your happiness should not be fleeting, but bear you forward through the long-years that lie before you - if that be the path taken. _The brilliant eyes returned to Meg. _Choose. Now._

Meg locked her gaze with Wendell's. Being a part of Imladris, as ageless and deathless as the others, was important; but not causing Wendell to grieve for her for centuries, perhaps millennia, after her death was far more critical. There was no choice. "I choose the draught," she answered with a steadier voice that she'd hoped for.

In the woman's hands appeared a tiny crystal goblet. _This is limpe, the secret of which is in close possession of Manwë. It takes three sips to partake of enough to lay aside your Gift of Mortality and don the burden and life of the Eldar. Three sips - no more, and no less._

Meg stepped forward, toward the woman, and tipped her head up. The crystal of the goblet was icy-cold against her lips, and the liquid itself was utterly tasteless. Nevertheless, the first sip raced through her system like a bolt of fire; the second landed heavily in her stomach and roiled for a moment, and the third went straight to her head, robbing her of her equilibrium. She stumbled and would have fallen had Wendell not darted forward to gather her into his arms.

_Sleep, Child of Eru, for the moment it takes for your Gift to diminish._

When Meg next knew anything, she was cradled in Wendell's arms at his place at the table. Celeborn was watching her with an expression of pride and concern. "Radagast," he said gently, "your lady awakens."

Meg looked up into the face of the man for whom she'd given up everything she had been before - even her mortality. "What happened?" She looked around in confusion. "Who was that woman, and where did she go?"

"That was Yavanna," Wendell told her with a smile. "The Lady of all growing things, and my mistress. As for where she has gone, I would imagine she is back in the Blessed Lands again." He helped her to sit up a bit straighter. "But how are _you_?"

Meg stopped for a moment and took stock of her condition. Other than a slight headache, she felt no different than she had walking into the room on Celeborn's arm. "I'm well, Wendell," she answered, patting his upper arm. Then she remembered what supposedly had happened to her. "Should I feel differently?"

"I do not know," he answered and carefully helped her shift from her spot on his lap to her chair. "Limpe is rarely given to anyone." Slowly he began to smile, and he teased a tendril of hair away from her face with a tender touch. "Now you are truly mine forever. I pray that I never give you cause to regret either of your choices, my love."

Meg began to smile as well. "You never will," she whispered so that only he could hear. "I have faith in you."

**A/N:** The idea of _limpe _comes from the Book of Lost Tales (HoME 1): 'Now _this which we put into our cups is _limpe, _the drink of the Eldar both young and old ... Thurinqi only may give it to those not of the Eldar race, and those that drink must dwell always with the Eldar of the Island until such time as they fare forth to find the lost families of the kindred_.' [p. 5-6]


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

Darkness was gathering, and the song that floated in the air of Imladris was a paean to Elbereth, the Star-Kindler. Soon enough, the glittering gems that were Elbereth's gift to the world would begin to shine in the sky above as the world below slowed to rest. The early summer evenings still held a touch of Springtime chill, however.

Meg neither turned nor looked as the warmth of a garment worn and only recently removed settled about her shoulders as she stood on the front portico of Imladris, her eyes trained on the opening in the wall. She knew who would have done such a thing - only one here besides her husband felt close enough to her to take such a liberty. "He will return, child," Celeborn's expected voice chimed softly in English, his American accent soothing to her ears; and he didn't entirely let go of her, but let his hands rest on her shoulders.

"_Iston._" I know, she returned in Sindarin. Even after all this time, some things never changed: when alone together, each continued to speak in the mother tongue of the other, as they had from the start.

Wendell had made several of his trips to the outer world in the years since their wedding, treks that never failed to make her nervous. She knew the dangers of the world of Men all too well; what if something befell him while in that village? What if he was hit by a car crossing the road - or whatever kind of vehicles they might have now? How would any of them know?

Celeborn knew her thoughts all too well too, having heard her fuss at him often enough before in similar situations. "Your worry will not bring him home any faster; I keep reminding you of this, and you never change."

"_Iston_."

She didn't have to look to know that it was the Lord's own robe that now hung from her shoulders and puddled on the stone at her feet from being made for someone so much taller than she was. That and the pressure of his hands was a welcome and needed comfort, for in Celeborn she had found someone she could look up to as a father figure, and someone who had over time become more than willing to play a decidedly paternal role when it suited him. During those rare times when Wendell needed to venture outside his protective girdle about Imladris, she needed the Elf-Lord's calm steadiness and unwavering conviction; and it was then when he was most likely to oblige her.

But she needed his strength and support more this time than before, and Meg allowed herself to lean back ever so slightly and to draw comfort from the patriarch that stood behind her. She felt again the light fluttering that was the life she carried, and wanted more than anything to finally share the good news with her husband privately, and only then with the others.

The two of them had discussed children often in the weeks and months of their first year of marriage - drawing strength from Yavanna's assurance that their children would be no more mortal than they - and had decided not to actively prevent conception. When so many years had passed with no results, the healer Gilvelui had confessed she didn't know if the problem was that the same kind of effort of the _faer_ would be needed as was the case for the _Eldar, _or whether the draught that had given Meg the life of the _Eldar_ had taken from her the ability to bear children along with her mortality.

Meg had been deeply disappointed, but had eventually put the matter behind her. Imladris had no other children to bring her lack to her attention, however; and she slowly convinced herself to be content with what she had: a husband who doted on her, an Elf-Lord whom she had come to admire and look up to, many friends with whom she could laugh and sing and tell stories to fill the evening hours, and a sense of purpose to her daily tasks that gave her a sense of accomplishment when the day was done.

And so the years had passed - how many she didn't know any longer, for she no longer kept count. It had taken time for her to lose the need to do so; Wendell and Norwen kept reminding her that this was a Mortal way of thinking, and eventually she had seen the logic in their argument.

Then, as the first thaws of a new spring began to chase away the snows, her courses - which had been as regular as clockwork - had ceased, and very secretly she had begun to hope. And now, with the fluttering in her lower regions becoming more determined by the hour, she was certain. She had consulted with Gilvelui earlier in the day, and then sworn the healer to secrecy. Meg herself would deliver the news to him, nobody else.

There they were - the distant sounds of hooves against the wood of the bridge over the Baraduin, and the song of welcome that opened the bubble of protection that hid their home - the sounds she had been waiting for. The long day that had started with a farewell was over, and the absent was now returned. Meg began bouncing on the balls of her feet in her excitement, and heard the low sound of Celeborn's soft laughter behind her. But she didn't care; he was finally home!

From the sounds of it, Wendell had had enough of the day as well, for Naurchim's hoofbeats came faster, as if he'd been convinced to break into a trot. In a moment that Meg felt dragged far more than necessary, the chestnut stallion and rider made the corner and came straight to the gate. The cloth bundles that hung behind him across the horse's wide back looked full, indicating the success of yet another shopping trip; and his smile was wide, if somewhat tired.

"Thank you, my friend," he said earnestly, slipping from Naurchim's back and catching at the linked bundles with a quick hand. "Go on, now. No doubt Aglaron is waiting for you with the sweetest of grasses and fresh straw." Naurchim tossed his head and trotted off in the direction of the stable, where even now Aglaron was stepping outside.

"My Lord," Wendell greeted Celeborn.

"Your venture was successful, I take it?"

"Indeed. Gilvelui and Norwen will be quite pleased with me this time, as will Brangalad." With a bow, he presented the bundles to Celeborn, who hefted them with a raised eyebrow.

"Is there news?" It was the one question Celeborn asked each time that made Meg hold her breath.

"Nothing that concerns Imladris, my Lord; one nation of Men battles another, as always, only the names of the nations involved changes. I did, however, hear speculation that some limited logging may take place near the lake, but only to make room for more tourist facilities within the park. Our girdle holds; none suspect our presence."

"Good." Meg saw Celeborn cast her a twinkling gaze. "Then I shall leave you to the tender greetings of your lady-wife, who was dancing on her toes only moments ago at the first sight of you."

"My Lord." Wendell bowed again and then smiled widely as Celeborn withdrew into the house. "Meg." He needed only whisper her name and she was flying into his arms and wrapping hers about his neck tightly to press her lips to his. He spun her around, and then commented with raised brows as they parted to breathe, "I should travel more often, if this is the welcome I can get."

"Stop that!" Meg shook her head at him. He knew how much she hated the need for him to leave Imladris and her. "I'm excited because I have news for you."

"Do you indeed?" He set her feet back down on the ground, tucked her shoulders beneath his arm and started toward the house. "Have you finally conquered successfully making… what do you call it… an 'angel-food cake' so that I might taste this marvel?"

"No, but you're on the right track," she grinned at him. "I am making something, but not a cake."

"You are trying a new recipe?"

"Nothing to do with the kitchen."

That made him slow his steps. "You are learning a new craft?"

"I'll need to learn new skills, yes, but not for a while yet," she admitted, her smile widening.

"Will I need to learn this craft as well, or will you be able to handle everything on your own?"

"I'll definitely need your help, but not for a while yet. You'll have time to get used to the idea before you'll need to pitch in."

His steps slowed even more. "That is twice you have said 'not for a while yet,' and I know of no craft where the beginner is not in more need of assistance than one who has been at the job a while."

"Perhaps that's because the actual task cannot begin immediately, but must await an event that won't come until later."

"Meg." He pulled her into the closest alcove he could find, clearly confused now. "What sort of task does not start immediately?"

She leaned up and kissed his beard-covered face. "You, my beloved Istar, haven't been paying proper attention to me lately."

"What?" Now he looked her up and down. "You look little changed - perhaps a little thicker about the waist. You have been sampling your own good cooking too much…"

"Yes, but cooking in the kitchen had very little to do with why my body is changing." She caught at his hand and put it on her lower stomach, directly over where the fluttering was happening even as they spoke.

Wendell frowned for a moment, and then his eyes grew wide in surprise and awe. "But, we thought…"

"We were wrong."

"And you are…"

"_We_ are, yes." She grinned at him with open delight and excitement.

He bent in intense concentration, his hand over the flutter. "A son," he whispered and then looked up into her face with an expression of wonder such as she'd never seen on his face before. "We will have a son!"

"A boy?" She didn't doubt his ability to know such things any longer; she'd seen him do too many impossible things in their time together to disbelieve.

"Have you told…"

"I wanted to tell you first," she interrupted him.

Wendell straightened and gazed at her. Meg would never tire of looking into her husband's handsome face, especially when it was looking back at her with _that_ expression. "I waited for a long time for you; and now you have brought me more happiness than I had ever dreamed possible."

"I love you," she answered simply.

"We should tell Lord Celeborn; he will want to know." A pleased and supremely proud grin began to spread across his features. "Who knows, perhaps this will be the beginning of… how is it called in the outer world… a fad?"

Meg chuckled, but dove into his arms and held him very tight. "As long as you are happy."

Those arms closed around her and held her back. "My gift from the Valar, you make me most content. Not even the Blessed Lands hold more for me than what I have right here, right now."

They stood, enjoying the togetherness for a long moment; and then Wendell kissed her forehead. "Should we tell him before, or during, the meal, do you think?"

"During. It will be interesting to watch his face, if we time the announcement right." Meg slipped very comfortably beneath Wendell's arm again. "Perhaps as he is taking a sip of wine?"

"You, my wife, are a trouble-maker."

"I might as well keep up the tradition - especially since I now have someone to pass it along to."

Wendell threw his head back and laughed long and well at her, and Meg pressed her face into his chest.

She had chosen well, and was content beyond any of her dreams. She had her husband and a love greater than even that which her parents had shared, she had friends, she had an occupation that suited her and gave purpose to her life - and soon she would have a child. She closed her eyes in gratitude, and could only think of one name to call on. _Yavanna, thank you._

As if from afar, a voice heard long before chimed gently in the back of her mind: _My Blessings on you, Child of Eru._

"Are you well?"

Wendell's voice was full of concern, and it pulled her from her reverie. "I'm fine," she reassured him, wanting nothing more than to smooth the folds of worry from his face. "I couldn't be better."

FIN


End file.
